Starting Over
by badwoolfbay
Summary: Starting over after the war. Starts out following Hermione and Fred, turns into Draco and Luna as well, then Ron and Pansy, will include Harry and Ginny in the log run. *Note* Updated for minor grammar/timeline changes from the beginning, story unchanged on the whole. Ch. 13 up now.
1. Chapter 1

In the heat of battle, Hermione found it surprising how fast time could move at one moment, and how slow it could in the next. She threw spells left and right, battling Death Eaters three times her age and with loads more experience than her. They weren't the brightest of their age, though, she reminded herself. She was pulling no punches - she had seen what Death Eaters could do. She had fought them before. She had been tortured by them. Where in an ordinary duel she would be trying to disarm and knock them out, Hermione was using everything she could to disable her attackers, permanently if she had to. She found that after a year on the run and everything it had come with - the betrayal Ron had dealt her, the hunger she had experienced, the fear that she carried around, not to mention what she had been through at Malfoy Manor - her attitude in the coffee shop standing over Dolohov had changed quite a bit.

It surprised her how little she cared that she might be killing these people. She had no time to care. She was fighting for her life, for the lives of so many people - her conscious could do the balancing in the end. Would they show mercy on her? Spare her? She knew the truth was quite the opposite, and felt no shame in casting a blinding curse at a dark hooded figure. Knowing the harm that he would have caused, she set him on fire for good measure. She had just returned from the Room of Requirement, and knew that if other students were willing to try to kill her, full fledged Death Eaters would stop at nothing.

"Is that a joke?" Fred said, "Percy, I don't think you've made a joke since -"

Time slowed for Hermione now - or maybe she was just moving faster than she had ever thought possible. A Death Eater had blown apart a wall, and pieces were going to fly everywhere. Using reflexes she never knew she had, Hermione didn't even considered her wand but dove headfirst into Fred, knocking him to the ground. Pieces of the ancient Hogwarts wall rained on top of them rather violently. Hermione, shielding Fred from the debris by virtue of having been on top of him when they landed, took the brunt of the force, great pieces of stone hitting her back, legs, side, and even her head. She must have screamed, surely she screamed, but Hermione could only hear the rush of her own blood in her ears.

"-MIONE!" came the strangled, breathless yell from beneath her. I must be heavy, she thought dimly, dazed from the tumble and the rock to the head. She tried to roll off of him, but realized she was pinned. All at once, the pain hit her, and this time she knew she screamed. Both legs, spine, and oh god the head wound. She looked down into Fred's eyes.

"I - think -" she started, heaving and trying to catch a breath, watching Fred's terrified blue eyes. He was shaking her head, whether to stop her words or her effort she didn't know, couldn't tell. "I'm - dying - Fred." And with that, she passed out on top of him.

There was frantic wand work all around them as Harry, Ron, and Percy subdued their attackers. George was doggedly moving the rocks and trying to free his brother and his saviour. Ron was the next to arrive, followed by Percy and Harry. Together they made quick work of the debris and found Fred clutching Hermione, praying she wasn't dead. _Not today_ , he thought. _Not today, not today, not today, please not today..._

 _She's breathing._

 _Breathe with me, Hermione._

 _In, out. In, out. I'd be dead without you. In, out._

"She's alive," Percy declared, his voice higher than normal. Fred's automatic response was to make fun of him, but there was nothing funny about it. In that moment he thought nothing would be funny again. "But she's hurt. We need to make sure she's okay! Fred too!"

"Move over," said George, and Fred felt an instant relief hearing his voice. George was rather good at healing charms, having to prove this time and again during testing for their pranks and joke store products. He heard George murmur detecting spells and a couple of bone mending spells - they'd hurt in the morning, he figured, along with his own. Collar bone for sure, his wand arm, and something in his back. He'd be dead, he was sure, if they hadn't shared the impact with Hermione taking the majority of the force. And all of a sudden all he could think about was the look on Hermione's face when she was sure she was dying. She didn't even look scared, he thought. She looked... Accepting. Sad. Even a little relieved. What had she been through to make her feel the last?

"I have to wake her up," George said, "I don't want to, she's going to hurt a lot. But I have to make sure I got everything, and I need her to tell me if there's something else wrong. She could die if I miss something." Sweat had formed on his brow. He looked twenty years older with all that worry on his face, Fred thought. "Fred, I'm going to get you in a second, but I don't want to move her til I know for sure. She'll need you when she wakes up." Fred nodded in understanding, as much as he could in his current position. She might try to get up with the weight lifted. She might just need the comfort that she wasn't alone. She'd saved his life; he would give her whatever she needed.

His arms were already around her having grabbed her instinctively in the fall. He held on as tight as he could, one arm noticeably weaker due to the break. George uttered "Enervate," and Fred watched as Hermione's eyes fluttered open again. She stiffened immediately.

"What -" she started, and was cut off by what Fred knew from her face was overwhelming pain. Tears flowed from her eyes and onto Fred's own cheeks. He could vaguely hear George asking her questions, but was focused on gritting his teeth through his own pain. Hermione clutched him like a lifeline, and he tried to squeeze her back without hurting her.

"- lungs," he hear her say with a gasp, "P-punctured maybe. Internal b-b-bleeding, maybe?" And she passed out again.

George moved quickly, taking care of her problems the best he could. She would need potions, notably pain and blood replenishing, and a real qualified healer like Madame Pomfrey, but George was able to do enough to keep her alive. They gently moved her off of Fred, and made quick work of his healing.

"Her leg," he said, speaking for the first time since the wall exploded. His voice cracked, and he winced. There was a jagged rock protruding from her upper thigh.

"Best leave it in," said George, "It'll bleed like a bitch when it's taken out. She'll need potions." Fred nodded again, thankful his twin was so calm. He started to lift Hermione to transport her to the Great Hall where their resident healer was likely to be. "Fred," George warned, "Let someone else. I just mended your arm."

"I'm taking her," Fred snapped, shooting a harsh glare at Ron, who has stepped forward to take her. George dropped it. "Watch my back," he said, fighting for a more reasonable tone, "You're the only one I trust to do it." He looked at Ron, who looked split between helplessness and rage. "Listen, you can't do anything for her right now, and I know Harry needs you. Go with him, mate," he implored, and after a hesitant glance at Hermione he obeyed.

Slowly he and George made their way to the Great Hall where Molly Weasley and Poppy Pomfrey flocked to them. George quickly detailed what had happened, the injuries he had guessed at, and what he had done to try to heal her. Pomfrey took a moment to take George by the shoulders and say, "Good work, Mr. Weasley. You may have saved her life," before adding "Now put her down and get out of my way!"

Fred gingerly set Hermione down on one of the stretchers that Madame Pomfrey had conjured, and the healer offered him a vial of pain potion when she saw him stretch his arm with a wince. "Don't be foolish," she chastised when he refused.

"I'm not," he argued hotly, "I'd rather save it for someone who needs it more. You can't have an endless supply on you, can you?" She let him go at this, and Fred rejoined the melee despite his mothers protests.

"You're injured! Fred!" he heard her call out to him. But he couldn't just wait to see if Hermione was going to wake up or not - he had to keep moving, had to keep fighting. _I'll fight for both of us, Hermione_ , he thought as he threw a curse at Fenrir Greyback, just in time to keep Lavender Brown out of his bite.

The rest of the fight passed in a blur of light and sound and reflexes. Harry was dead. Neville charged Voldemort. Harry was alive. Hermione was in the crowd, he noticed. _Atta girl_ , he had time to think as they locked eyes before the final duel began.

When it was over, finally and completely over, Fred rushed to her. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?" he asked her, standing closer than he might have thanks to the crowd forming around Harry, Ron, and herself. She waved him off with one hand, but looked awfully pale. She clutched his arm for support, but told him she was fine? He didn't think so, but clearly couldn't push the issue. And then George was jumping on him in glee, and his mother was clearly looking for her children, and he lost her to the crowd.


	2. Chapter 2

Days after the war passed, and Hermione was frazzled. It seemed that the Weasley's reaction to the post war fallout had been to come together and stay together. She felt like she couldn't breathe in The Burrow, like all the walls were closing in. _Am I crazy_? she wondered. _Wasn't this what I was dreaming of while we were searching for the past year? Normalcy_. She spoke with Harry about it, and he admitted that it was strange to feel grounded again. He planned on moving into Grimmauld Place as soon as he could, but he didn't think Molly would be able to handle that just yet. He offered to let her move in, and she was grateful.

"I can't live there alone, I don't think. Ron is coming too," he admitted. Hermione hesitated at this.

"I don't know what's going on there yet," she confessed. "But thank you. I'll think about it, honestly."

To fill her time she apperated to Hogsmeade almost daily to help with restoring the castle. She talked to Professor McGonagall — well, Headmistress now she supposed, and had already reached an agreement. She would do a correspondence program; she would study her books at home and do assigned coursework and meet with the professors once at the end of August and again in November, to go over her assignments and show that she could practically demonstrate her wand work as well. She would sit for her NEWTS with the rest of the students in the Great Hall while they were doing mid-terms in December. She and the rest of the professors were confident that she would do as well as she always had.

Hermione glanced about the Great Hall a few days into the work and was impressed. She knew that the house elves were doing the cleaning every night, though she did do cleaning charms after her work to prevent their need, frowning after those who left their spaces mended but dirty. She was going through the hallways spot fixing cracks in walls, singed or burned tapestries, furniture, everything that needed attention. She paused when she reached the hallway where she had thrown herself on top of Fred Weasley to protect him. Rubble was everywhere, and Hermione bristled at the memory. She took a deep breath, then rolled up her sleeves and started wandlessly putting the unbroken stones into the wall, recreating the ones that were not salvageable. She sealed the wall and cleaned up, then sat on the floor with her back against it.

She hadn't processed it yet. She tried not to think about it, ever. The blinding pain, the panic, worrying about Fred. You've been through worse, she reminded herself, shuddering. She felt a wave of guilt wash over her suddenly. She hadn't even visited him to see how he was. The twins were perhaps at The Burrow the least, already having an apartment and store that they must be scrambling to put back together. She made a commitment to herself to see him, and started heading back to Hogsmeade to apperate back to Ottery St. Catchepole. Thinking that she might get some supper before leaving, Hermione ducked into The Three Broomsticks only to find Fred himself sitting at the bar.

"Fred?" She asked hesitantly, hoping that he wouldn't be offended if it was George.

The twin in question spun around. "Hullo, 'Mione," he greeted with a noticeable slur.

She instinctively checked the clock. 7:12 PM. What time had he started?

"What're you doing here?"

Hermione shrugged. "I've been helping with the clean up effort," she explained as she took a seat next to him. "A butterbeer and fish n chips, please," she requested politely from Rosmerta, who offered the butterbeer immediately and went to place her food order. "What are you doing here?" She countered.

Fred echoed her shrug. "Getting away from it all."

Hermione paused a beat. "Would you like me to leave you alone?"

"Nah. Turns out I don't like being alone."

"Where's George?"

"With Katie."

Hermione sipped her butterbeer, unsure of where to take this conversation. How many times had they talked alone? She could probably count them on one hand.

"I'm not drunk."

"Okay."

"'M not. I'm tipsy," Fred signalled to Rosmerta, and held up two fingers. He felt like she was disapproving. "I'll get drunk though. I'm a grown man. You should get drunk too."

"Why?"

"What else are we gonna do?"

The logic was there, she had to admit. She reached into her pocket and pulled out all the Galleons she had on her, plunking them on the counter in front of her. "Let's do it," she agreed, and the combined surprise and glee on Fred's face pleased her.

Four firewhiskey deep, Hermione was feeling warm and buzzed. She didn't think she'd ever been drunk before, and figured that if she was going to go for it Fred Weasley was the drinking partner she should have. He made her laugh, harder than she ever remembered. She couldn't remember the last time she'd truly laughed. War couldn't leave anyone unchanged, she supposed, and it had rightly sucked the joy from her life.

"I'm going to ask you a question," he told her, "and you're going to answer it without thinking. Then ask me one."

Hermione agreed and ordered a few shots of firewhiskey to have on hand. "Okay, go!"

"Favourite colour?"

Shot.

"Blue. Favourite class?"

Shot.

"Charms. Best memory? Like which one makes your patronus work?"

Shot.

"Getting my Hogwarts letter. What's yours?"

Shot.

"Cheating! No asking the same question!"

"No rules, Weasley!"

"Alright - opening day of the joke shop. And before that, winning the Quidditch cup. Worst memory?"

Hermione hesitated. Fred immediately looked embarrassed for asking such a question right after the war, but she answered anyway. "We were captured a few weeks before the final battle, and Bellatrix Leatrange tortured me. Magic and... otherwise. She was about to offer me up to Fenrir Greyback to do whatever he pleased when Ron, Harry, and Dobby were able to get me." She took the next shot with Fred, who had signalled to Rosmerta for more. His hand covered her knee, and she could see the shock in his eyes.

"Mine was at the battle," he said quietly, without being asked. "When you saved me, and told me you'd die. You collapsed on top of me and I thought you might have actually died. I've never been so scared in my life." They sat in silence for a second with a somber blanket covering the mood. Fred broke into a grin, though. "But you're here, Hermione! How fantastic! You're here, I'm here, and you're in one piece, and what could be better than that?"

"But will I ever be me again?" She hadn't even realized that this was bothering her so much. She hadn't dared ask herself this question, because she wasn't sure if the answer, and she hated not knowing the answer to anything.

"You're always going to be you. Your experiences are what make you. You get to choose how you react, how you're defined."

Hermione returned his smile, and hugged him. She stood up to do it, and the alcohol which had been a slow burn til now slammed into her. Her hug turned into holding onto him to keep from falling. "I shouldn't drink any more," she said, giggling.

"That means we should have one more," he said, helping her back onto the stool, "and think about how we're going to get home."

Her eyes widened. "I can't go to The Burrow like this!" The idea struck her as hilarious, and they laughed so hard she almost cried.

"Neither can I!" Fred said.

"Well why would you have to? You have a flat!"

His eyes lit up. "I do have a flat!" Fred plunked down the money to cover the rest of their tab, and brought her to the fireplace, each supporting the other on the short walk. He withdrew a small drawstring bag with Floo powder in it. "Just say, Mischief Manor," he told her, and Hermione giggled.

"Mischief Manor," she repeated to make sure she had the words right, then stepped into the Floo and tried it. For a long moment before Fred joined her she wondered how she'd know she had the right place. What if she was a burglar? She'd had to steal something to be a burglar, she reminded herself, but felt relieved when Fred showed up, toting a bottle of Ogden's best that he must have finagled out of Rosmerta. "I thought we'd had enough," she stated as she took an offered glass.

"We had enough there. Now we're home sweet home, we can have as much as we like!" They said cheers to that, and drank up.

Hours later Hermione was laying on her back atop of Fred's bed, watching the ceiling spin. "Are you dating my brother?" he asked from beside her. He was on his side, watching her watch the ceiling.

"I don't think so," she replied, too drunk to over analyze it. "We kissed during the battle. There's been a... thing between us. But he hasn't said anything."

"Do you want to date him?"

She sighed. "I feel like I should want to," she admitted, "but I've changed so much over the last year that I don't know what I truly want."

Fred considered this, finding that it made a whole lot of sense. Hermione often did. "Do you know what I want?" he asked in a husky voice.

"What?" she asked, closing her eyes then opening them again. The ceiling was spinning the other way now.

He answered with a deft kiss to her lips. It was slow, and sweet, but there was a hint of something much deeper behind it. He was testing the waters and looking for a reaction. She did nothing for a second, shocked, then bit her lip. "Try that again," she ordered, and grabbed his tee to pull him closer. He did, and now that permission had been granted he added a heat to the kiss that had been consuming him inside. He rolled on top of her and deepened it, feeling urged on by her fingers running through his hair. And one small hand reaching under his shirt to brush against his back. Her touch was electric.

She removed his shirt in between desperate kisses, and he had one hand busily unhooking her bra while she tried to extract herself from her own t-shirt. With minor drunken fumbling they were both successful and Fred took one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking on it gently. Her moan spurred him on, and he released her only to blow lightly and match the attention on her other side. He slid his hand down to her jeans and tugged at the button, brought the zipper down. She gasped and he kissed her again, worried that he was too enthusiastic at her breast. He rubbed the outside of her jeans and was delighted when she pressed his hand into her, increasing the pressure. He slipped his hand under the fabric and found her, hot and wet.

"Fred," she gasped, and bucked underneath of him. He groaned with a need that had been growing with every second since he'd seen her at the Three Broomsticks. The sight of her was like a heavy punch to the gut when he had turned around to find her glowing with the sun setting behind her. She was like a dream. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her since the battle, and was working on convincing himself with the help of Ogden's that he should forget about her. And all of a sudden there she was.

Kismet.

And here they were, rolling around on his bed. She switched with him, rolling on top, taking charge. She kissed him desperately and ground down on top of him. He was in heaven. A topless Hermione on top of him, so clearly wanting. He moved his hands to her bottom, but had a flash of a thought cut through his drunken haze. Is she really into me, or is she too far into the bottle? He allowed himself another few glorious moments exploring her body, but gently pushed her back to a sitting position on top of him.

"'Mione," he breathed, and rested his hands on her hips. She giggled and a lightning bolt shot through him at the sound, so incredibly erotic to him. She wriggled on top of him. Apparently she was ticklish. He moved his hands up and cupped her breasts.

"'Mione," he repeated with renewed focus, "Should we stop?"

"Why would we stop?" she asked with genuine confusion, leaning down for another kiss.

"Wait, wait - I can't - Merlin, I'm drunk."

"Me too," she said, and nibbled at his ear. "I like it," she whispered, her breath tickling him.

He groaned. What am I, a saint? he thought, flipping them around again to be on top. He pressed into her. He felt her starting to slide her jeans down, and alarm bells rang for him. His fathers humiliating sex talk filled his mind in the most awful timing, reminding him that if a woman was drunk she couldn't fully consent. He groaned again, in a very unhappy way.

"What's wrong?" she asked, hair everywhere, cheeks flushed.

"We can't."

"I - did I do something wrong?" She was so perfect, he thought. He was crushed when he saw tears start to well up.

"No! No no no no no, Hermione. You're amazing." He moved his hands up further to cup her face. "Amazing," he repeated, rubbing a thumb gently over a cheekbone. "I don't want it like this though." He maneuvered to roll onto his side, bringing her down to mirror his position, facing each other. He tucked one arm under the pillow she rested on and toyed with her hair with that hand. She was so close that he could count the cute sprinkle of freckles on her nose. That is, he could if he wasn't too drunk to count. He let his other hand caress her face, slide down her arm. It rested at the curve of her hip, where he drew circles with his finger. "You're the loveliest girl, Hermione. I don't want to just shag you like an animal in heat. Let me take you out on a few dates, make sure there's something there. Make sure you want this when we're sober. You're too important to have for one night only, love."

Drunk Hermione frowned. "'Suppose it'd be better to wait," she agreed unhappily, running her fingers through his light patch of ginger chest hair. Her body, however disagreed. Having been involved in what she would now she would only be classifying as heavy petting her body was buzzing with a sexual charge. She knew his was too - his erection was very evident, even through his jeans. With a wicked smile Hermione slid her pants down and used her feet to kick them off

"Whoah. 'Mione, I -"

"Shhh, Fred," she teased as she reached to unfasten his jeans, "Just because we're not going to shag doesn't mean I can't do this." She rolled him onto his back and pulled his boxer briefs and newly loosened jeans down over his hips in one motion. She shifted down on the bed and her mouth closed over the head of his cock.

"Oh bloody hell, oh my fucking -"

Hermione withdrew her lips with an audible pop. "Language, Fred!" she admonished primly before returning her attentions. His eyes rolled back into his head. She experimented with him, trying to fit the whole length of him in her mouth. He hit the back of her throat which caused her to choke a little, her eyes watering, and she withdrew. Fred hissed, and Hermione glanced up. "I-is this okay?" she asked him nervously, taking the time to fully extricate him from his pants and underwear.

Fred made a strangled noise. Was it okay? She was naked except for her black lacy knickers, all legs and breasts and hips, lips swollen from his kisses. Her hair was wild in an I've-been-naughty way, and her hands had returned to his member, stroking and touching and worshipping him. At that moment he couldn't recall a time when he had been more okay in his life. "Bloody - brilliant - Hermione," he managed between gritted teeth. He was barely holding on. He was sure that if it wasn't for the alcohol he'd be gone already. His hips bucked involuntarily, and as if reminded Hermione gave him one long lick before moving her mouth up and down on top of him.

He struggled to keep control, especially when she paused again to ask if it was good for him, or if he wanted her to do anything in particular. He shot her a desperate look. "Please don't stop," he pleaded. He would have done absolutely anything to have her continue.

"It's just - I've never - you're the first -" she trailed off, her face practically glowing with ferocity of her blush.

"Hermione Granger," Fred choked out, struggling to half sit up. "Are you trying to tell me that I'm the first and only man you've done this for?" When she nodded yes, he felt a prideful, boasting ape beating his chest deep within him. "That's so hot," he blurted, a drunken and sexual haze removing his filter entirely. He let himself drop back onto the bed, feeling ten feet tall.

Emboldened by this, the brunette returned her mouth to him enthusiastically, pleased that she was doing a good job on her first try. It didn't take long after this for Fred to bury his hands in her mass of hair, taking fistfuls in desperation. "I'm gonna - I can't - Hermione, I'm gonna cum," he warned, but she didn't back off. She continued what she was doing, acknowledging his concern with an mhmmm that sounded closer to a purr than anything. The vibration did him in, and he felt his cock pulsing in her mouth, the most amazing release he'd ever experienced. And, bless her, she waited until he was completely spent before removing her mouth and swiping at the head of his cock one last time.

Fred was practically catatonic when she curled up next to him, and he could only breathe heavily for a moment while she once again started playing with his chest before he caught hold of his senses and rolled on top of her. He kissed her, and tasted himself on her tongue. He moved down her body and teased his tongue over her still hard nipples. He latched his teeth onto one of those perfect rosy buds and gently tugged. She moaned, long and breathy. He continued down, leaving a trail of kisses down her torso, to the belly button, and lower. When he reached the waistband of the scrap of lace she wore he was very aware of her musky, intoxicating scent.

"What are you doing?" She asked, and he froze.

"Turnabouts fair play, love. If you're not comfortable I can stop."

"Oh," she said, cluing into his intentions. He could practically feel her blush. "You don't have to - I mean no ones ever - you don't have to." Fred gave a short, throaty laugh.

"Don't have to, debatable. Want to, undeniable," he informed her, slowly peeling her knickers away. Who knew Hermione Granger was a black lace kind of girl? He hadn't guessed, but he all of a sudden wasn't surprised. "If I do something you don't like, just tell me, okay?" he asked as he discarded her undergarment somewhere on his floor. He could only imagine if that was her first blowjob she wouldn't have had head in return. She nodded her understanding, and he took it as a go ahead. He offered a testing lick just barely penetrating her folds with his tongue, starting from the bottom and ending at her clit, and she let out a high pitched moan. Surprised, he glanced up quickly to find her eyes closed, lower lip caught between her teeth, hands balled into fists filled with his blanket as she clutched the top of his bed. Oh yes, Fred mused, he was going to enjoy this.

He focused all of his attention on the task so literally in front of him, and Hermione was very quickly writhing underneath him. The woman had been rolling around with him so sexually, add in alcohol and the fact that he wasn't a total troll, along with this being the first time she had received this particular sort of attention - he wasn't surprised by her reaction, but he was just a little amazed by it. She's a goddess, he thought to himself as his slid one finger inside of her without breaking oral contact. She responded so positively that he quickly changed it to two. Her wetness made it easy for him to slide in and out of her, but he tried to kept his ministrations moderate so as not to hurt her. His mouth alternated between licking and gently suckling at her clit, which he found she rather enjoyed, his efforts fervent with the encouragement of her sexy moans and groans and high pitched breaths.

"I - F-Fred -" Merlin, he loved it when she said his name. "I -" she broke off into what started as a moan and increased into a scream of pleasure, and he felt her walls close around his fingers and knew she had reached her breaking point. He stopped moving his hand and eased up with his mouth. He wanted her to be able to ride her orgasm out without being overwhelmed by the sensation of him touching her most sensitive parts.

When she lay still Fred removed his hand and moved back up to lay on the bed properly, reaching for his wand for a quick, silent cleansing charm aimed at the sheets and then his hand. He slid beneath his top sheet and blankets, inviting Hermione to join him. She was limp, her body sleepy from her own release. Now that her body had been thoroughly satisfied the late hour and the alcohol were working together to pull her into dreams. She drifted off almost immediately after settling her head on the spot between his shoulder and chest, soothed by the sound of Fred's light snores.


	3. Chapter 3

George arrived in his shared flat via Floo early the next morning, whistling to himself. The jaunty tune turned to a low note of surprise when the first thing he saw was a coffee table with an almost empty bottle of Ogden's, and two glasses. One was tipped on its side in a clearly drunken mess. Upon further investigation George found Fred's shoes along with a second pair of markedly smaller trainers by the Floo. He switched his tune to a wolf whistle in congratulations to his twin, and made a bacon sandwich before heading down to the shop to do some work.

When Hermione woke up she was in pain. She had immediately sat up, which proved to be the worst idea she had ever had as her headache screamed in protest. "Oh god oh god oh god oh god," she whispered as she slowly lay back down, one hand clutching her head, the other clutching the bedspread.

Then she realized she was naked, and panicked. Rather than recalling the events of the night in sequence, Hermione's hung over brain went straight to question/answer mode.

Did she have sex?

No. She was bombarded with images of Fred, kissing her, touching her... stopping her. And then images of herself, the things she did to him, the reciprocation. Hermione blushed, and suddenly her whole body tingled.

Did anyone know where she was?

No. An impromptu trip to the Three Broomsticks, a sharing session with Fred, an urgency not to let Molly Weasley find her stumbling into The Burrow blasted. Somewhat clearer headed, she realized that had been stupid. The whole household was probably in an uproar by now at her absence since the previous afternoon. They knew she'd gone to Hogwarts, but she just simply hadn't gone back after, hadn't even sent an owl or Floo'd in. Guilt filled her.

What time was it anyway?

She looked around the room, which she guessed was normally tidy but at this point had been ravaged by a drunken witch and wizard. Clothes were everywhere, the bedclothes were a mess. She saw out of the window that the sun was beginning to set again. Oh, sweet Circe, she thought. Mrs. Weasley was going to kill her.

She looked at Fred now, slowly turning over to see him snoring. He looked peaceful, and she thought it'd be a shame to wake him. She did anyway. Clutching the sheet to her chest with one hand, she used the other to shove at his shoulder, and only managed to make Fred groan. In no mood, Hermione huffed and then shoved harder. Successful, she blinked at him.

"Morning," he greeted her, a decided lack of energy in the word.

"Evening," she corrected him, pain echoing in her voice. "I need - I don't know where the loo is," she admitted, sure she'd never blushed so much in her life. "I was hoping I could take a shower." She was pretty sure she had never smelled worse, and her breath was offending herself even.

"'Course," Fred offered, and stopped worrying about his inability to speak more than one word at a time when he sat up and his whole body made its protest at the movement. "Merlin!" He put his head in his hands.

"Tell me about it," she said, sliding out of bed after him, taking the sheet with her. Fred was still naked, and she tried not to look. And yet, she found herself having forcibly to slide her gaze away. He probably thinks I'm a slag, she thought, then remembered him telling her how lovely she was, how special. Didn't people tell the truth when they were drunk? She hoped so.

Glancing around the room, Hermione looked hopelessly for all of her clothes, and failed to find them. "Um," she said, looking about.

"Here," he said, noting her dilemma. He reached into his closet and pulled out a Weird Sisters shirt that was a little loose on him. She was smaller, so it would almost cover her completely. He threw a pair of boxer shorts into the offering, and he watched her drop the sheet and quickly dress. The sight was quickly making him realize that he was still naked and very much appreciative of her body, so he busied himself in the closet finding pants for himself so as not to make her uncomfortable. He took her hand in his and guided her out of the bedroom.

A quick glance around the flat made it evident that while George wasn't there, he had been. He'd cleaned up after them, and made a hangover potion in two flasks that was a clear message that he knew he had a girl over, and that he was aware they'd been doing some pretty heavy drinking. He briefly hoped that they hadn't been heard. He'd tell his brother about Hermione of course but he felt weird about the idea of him overhearing them. Maybe it was that he didn't want to share her, wanted keep her all to himself like a sweet little secret.

He ushered her to the bathroom, and explained that the shower needed a moment to work - their flat was quite old. He produced her wand, which he had grabbed from the bedside table, because he didn't feel settled in the morning until he knew where his own wand was. Then he fetched a few fresh towels from the hall closet and set them at the sink, placing a warming charm on them. "Er, everything you need should be in there." She nodded, and he reached over to turn the hot water on. "It needs a minute," he explained. "Are you... Are we okay?" he blurted, too hung over to be subtle about it. "I mean, I can't tell if you're embarrassed or if you're just hung over." He scratched at the back of his head.

His hair was everywhere. Bed head, she mused. She could imagine hers was a fright. He was standing in front of her, shirtless, his jeans unbuttoned. "I can't be embarrassed," she admitted. "Not by you. I am embarrassed by how drunk I got last night." She met his eyes, and gave a sheepish smile.

"I was right there with you, Mione," he assured her. "And listen, I meant what I said last night. I want to take you on a proper date, get to know you better. It's all been rather sudden and I don't want to be casual with you."

Hermione exhaled a deep breath. "I have to clear things up with Ron first," she said cautiously. "Things were left so open, and there's a lot of history there. I'd have to do that in any case, but especially as you're his brother. I just don't know about anything anymore."

He understood that, logically. He knew he'd have to let her go and mull over everything and reconsider their night together. He even knew that he would have to be considerate of his brother. But did that mean he was expected to just step out of the way and wish them luck? He didn't think so, and because he didn't he leaned in and captured her lips with his own. There was an undeniable spark there, Merlin, it was a full blown volcano. She melted into him and he leaned to pin her against the sink. "Just make sure you factor that in when you're thinking about it later," he implored with a low voice. "The shower should be ready now," he told her as he eased off and started out. "And there's a hangover potion out here when you're done." He shut the door behind him, leaving her a bit dazed and all churned up.

Fred was downing the hangover potion for himself when George walked in. "Well hello there sleepyhead," he said, stretching the o. "So, how was your night?"

Fred threw George a wolfish grin, feeling a thousand percent better now that his hangover was gone. "I certainly wouldn't complain," he offered smugly, allowing himself to remove the guilt over the alcohol and the fact that it was his brothers love interest, and letting the joy of everything wash over him. "And how was yours?" he asked as he started opening cupboards and pulling down plates and a frying pan before turning over to the fridge and finding the mixings for pancakes and bacon.

"No way," said George with a laugh, "No way are you going to get off that easy. Who's the bird?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I would, actually!"

"You'll find out. Listen, when she comes out here don't mention our little brother," he told him.

"Why not?" he asked, puzzled.

"You'll see. Pancakes?"

"It's 6:00 in the evening."

"And your point is?"

"Yeah, I'll have some."

Fred was flipping his first pancakes from the pan to plates and listening to George's story about his own date last night when he heard the shower stop. He saw George's face light up, and he grinned. Fred just moved bacon to plates and put the second batch of pancakes on. Fred was dressed completely now, jeans buttoned and a dark blue v-neck t-shirt. He felt a little silly knowing he picked it because it was, as he discovered last night, her favourite colour, but shrugged it off.

" - and then he says, 'romper, I hardly knew her!'" They both laughed, and then broke it off when Hermione stepped out of the bathroom, dried off and looking a little more relaxed.

George's mouth dropped open before he caught himself. He quickly shut it and jumped from his perch on top of the kitchen counter. Hermione bloody Granger! Spent the night with his brother! And was wearing his clothes around their apartment! He was for the first time in his memory at a loss for words, and could only watch as Fred grabbed the hangover potion and brought it to her. "Here, love. George made it. He's a fair hand at potions, I'm feeling great now." She accepted it, and downed it, making a face when the taste hit her. Fred laughed at her, and George could actually see the second that it started working.

There was a quick shuffle where Hermione ran in to exchange the boxers for her jeans (and, George suspected, find her bra), and Fred took advantage of the empty bathroom. George flipped the next batch of pancakes thoughtfully, a million questions on his mind. How had that happened? Did Ron know? Were they dating now? He could only wait to find out, he supposed, and kind of wanted Hermione to leave so that he could grill his brother. When everyone was back he had breakfast set out on the table.

"So who's ready for dinner?" He asked, pouring syrup onto his own pancakes.

Hermione stood in front of Fred an hour later. George hadn't said anything about them, but his shock had been evident. They'd passed a pleasant, if somewhat awkward breakfast dinner together, and then George had excused himself to go to his room in a clear bid to give them a bit of privacy. "I'd better get going," she told Fred. "I can only imagine what your mum is going to say."

"Just blame it on me," he suggested cheerfully, "Mum loves blaming stuff on us!"

Hermione laughed, and Fred revelled in the sound. He loved making everyone laugh, but he particularly loved making her laugh. "I'll go with you," he told her more seriously. "So'll George when he finds out I'm going. We'll just tell her a version of the truth, she'll be fine."

Hermione have a grateful smile, and said "Let's call George out then."

"Not yet."

"We really should get going. Your mum -"

"In a second. He left so we could do this," Fred said with a glint in his eye, pulling her closer.

It was a full ten minutes later before they called George and stepped into the fireplace.

"HERMIONE GRANGER! Where exactly have you been? I have been worried sick about you, ever since yesterday! No note, no nothing! Just frittered away and stayed out all night! This is just so unlike you, I honestly don't know what to say. Just because the war is over does not mean that there aren't people who wouldn't want to hurt you, young lady, and you cannot just stay out all night!"

"Mum! The witch is of age, for Merlin's sake, she's not eleven!" cried Fred when he saw how immediately upset Hermione had become. She considered her a second mum, he knew, and her scorn could eat Hermione up inside. He had seen her reaction to the Easter Incident during the Tri-Wizard Cup.

"Don't you sass me, George Weasley!"

Hermione saw Fred roll his eyes. "I'm Fred. It's my fault anyway - I ran into her last night on her way home and convinced her to come for drinks. She Floo'd to our flat after so that she wouldn't wake anyone up when she came in."

"Well loads of good that did, as I was up half the night worrying," Molly said with indignation, causing Hermione to wince with guilt.

"I'm really sorry Mrs. Weasley, I did mean to come home. But one thing led to another and it didn't feel like a good idea then," Hermione said, speaking quickly. "I'm so sorry I didn't let you know, honestly. I was just with Fred and, well, I know he would take care of me if anything happened. I felt so perfectly safe with him that I didn't think about anyone else worrying about me."

Nice one, Fred thought. She just might get us both out of the kneazle hut. Though he knew damned well that Hermione could take care of herself and then some. He could practically see his mother switching gears, and dare he say she looked a little prideful that Hermione looked to her son for protection.

"Well next time please let me know where you are if you're not coming home so that we don't worry. And Fred, dear, you know I don't like you drinking."

But the anger was diffused, and she was already turning to the kitchen. "Yes mum," he said obediently, throwing a wink at Hermione behind his mothers back. "D'you fancy a stroll around the gardens?" he asked her, only to be met with disappointment when she shook her head.

"Ron," she said in explanation.

"Ah."

"But... will you stick around? I think either way we'll need a chat later."

He agreed, and watched her climb the stairs to find his younger brother. "So how exactly did that happen anyway?" George asked when they were alone.

"I ran into her at the Three Broomsticks last night and convinced her to share a drink with me. I think she needed it, honestly, the things she's been through this past year alone. Ended up at the flat and the rest is history."

"You're not the take a witch to bed after a few drinks type, mate."

"I know. It's been building, I think. I used to fancy her, you know? Back in fifth year. At first I didn't do anything because of Ron, and then guess I just figured that would never happen the day we left school. Could you ever imagine Prefect Hermione with a dropout?"

"Well it's not like we went to live in the gutters, Fred. We opened our own business!"

"I know, I know. It was the best decision of my life, believe me," Fred insisted, not wanting to hurt his twins feelings. "It just didn't seem like she would go for me. Then after the battle I just couldn't get her off my mind. She's not just any girl, you know?"

"No, I don't think she is. She's seen some things since we knew her last."

"I don't even know the half of it, and I'm already shocked," he agreed darkly, thinking back to her clearly shortened version of events in the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange and Fenrir Greyback.

"I don't think she'll end up with Ron," George admitted. "She's grown up too much for him. I'll be the first to admit that I was surprised when you two hooked up last night, but it makes sense the more I think on it."

"How d'you reckon?" Fred asked, surprised by George's analysis.

"She's serious but she likes a laugh. She never objected to our products, just testing them on the first years. You're smarter than you let on, and she's more fun loving than everyone takes her for. It's like you're just opposite enough. Besides, Ron spent most of his time at school ignoring her, and you've wasted no time at all letting her know you're interested."

"Well I hope she sees it that way," Fred admitted. "We didn't sleep together though."

"No?" George asked, his turn to be surprised.

"We did do plenty that would have gotten us arrested in public," Fred replied, "But cooler heads prevailed. Drunk is not the state I want to be in when we go down that road."

"'When'," George repeated, clapping Fred in the back, "That's the spirit!"

Upstairs, Hermione found Ron and Harry in their room, talking about when they should move into Grimmauld Place. She cleared her throat for attention, and brushed off their questions about where she'd been with short, close to true answers. "Harry, do you mind if I speak with Ron for a moment alone?" she asked nervously, and sensing that a conversation he didn't want to be a part of was about to happen Harry quickly cleared out.

"Everyone was worried about you, Hermione," Ron said. Hermione noted that he didn't state that he in particular was worried.

"I know, I feel awful. I don't really want to talk about last night though. I'm hoping to talk to you about us."

"Us," he repeated.

"Us," she confirmed. "What... What's happening with us?" she asked. He looked very uncertain at how to answer her, so she continued. "I just feel like we've been dancing around each other for a long time now, and the kiss at Hogwarts - I guess I just wanted to know what was going on from your point of view."

Ron paused for a long time. "I dunno Hermione. We're friends, yeah? And everything's so up in the air after the war. I don't know what I want to do, and it feels like the first time I've really got the opportunity to live and experience things and I thinkIwanttotrydatingaroundforawhile." He finished in a rush, and she could see the tips of his ears starting to glow with embarrassment.

She couldn't say it didn't sting that the boy she'd wanted to date all through school had just told her he wanted to date other people, but she did have a man downstairs waiting for her. "Honestly, Ron, the reason I'm asking is because I have someone who wants to date me, and I didn't want there to be hurt feelings between us."

"Oh. Who?"

Hermione blushed. "I don't th-"

"Oh come on, Hermione!" Ron interrupted, I'm going to find out anyway sooner or later. Look, I promise I won't get mad."

"Even if you know him?"

Ron looked like he was trying not to react. "Even if," he swore. "Just don't tell me it's Victor Krum," he said, half joking, half serious.

"It's not," she assured. "It's -" she hesitated. Ron had a history of unpredictability. "This is awkward," she stated. "Because we never really dated so I don't know how out of bounds this is. But it's Fred."

Ron was very silent for a moment. Eerily silent. Then, with a look that she had only seen on his face when puking up slugs, he choked out "Well then, that was unexpected."

"I know that must be weird for you -"

"No," he said, waving a hand through the air as though it were no consequence. "It's only my brother. Has he been flirting with you behind my back for long?"

"Ron," she protested hotly, "Some men don't wait seven years to talk about dating. He just asked me out last night, and I told him that I'd have to speak with you first."

All of a sudden something clicked for Ron. "Last night? You were with him all night last night? That's a bit loose of you don't you think?"

Hermione gasped with anger, a flush spreading across her cheeks. "How dare you, Ronald Weasley! You don't even want to date me, but you're wasting no time chastising me for spending time with someone who does!"

"Did you sleep with him?" Ron asked dully.

"Not that it's any of your business," she replied haughtily, "But no, I didn't."

"But you did other stuff, didn't you?"

Hermione's flush deepened. "I'm not going into detail with you, just like I'll expect you not to go into detail of what you did with Lavender Brown, or what you'll do to the witches you meet when you're 'dating around'." It was Ron's turn to blush then, and she knew she'd made her point. Thinking that they had embarrassed each other enough, Hermione got ready to leave. "I don't want you to think that this was anything malicious or against you. We've been through too much to fight about dates, haven't we?"

Ron nodded glumly. "I suppose you're right," he agreed reluctantly. "It's just not very flattering when the girl you fancy takes up with your successful older brother."

"I didn't plan -"

"No, I know you didn't. I'll get over it."

She left at this, not feeling the matter entirely settled, but unable to do any more. He would calm down, she thought, when he found a witch who could bump up his ego a few notches. They'd be begging at his door I'm no time she figured, since the wizarding world would know soon how large a part Ron had played in ending the war and defeating Voldemort.

When she stepped into the living room and Fred saw her somewhat troubled face, he froze. Bad news? He jerked his head towards the back door, and she nodded and stepped out. "What happened?" he asked immediately.

"He wants to date other people. And I told him you wanted to date me. He took it... as well as can be expected. I don't think he's going to throw a parade in your honour, and he did call me loose, but we essentially have his blessing," she explained.

"He called you what?"

"It's fine, Fred. Anger is a secondary emotion, you know. Whenever someone is angry the first emotion they felt was hurt or upset. And I mean, Rita Skeeter's called me worse."

"That makes sense. But still!"

Hermione laughed at his indignation. "You know what this means, though?"

"I've got myself a loose woman?"

She laughed even harder, and pulled him to her with a fistful of his shirt. "Exactly," she said, and kissed him.


	4. Chapter 4

Fred checked his reflection carefully. Not a hair out of place that hadn't been put there. His shirt was immaculate. His pants were pressed. His shoes were shined. His daisies were on the counter, along with his roses. Satisfied, Fred grabbed the flowers and got ready to leave.

"Fred," George called, "You're not going to go without letting me take a picture?"

"Picture kissing my arse," Fred joked.

"Oh come now," said George, "Don't you want to immortalize this moment when you, Fred Weasley, go to pick up your future wife?" Fred made a rude gesture, and George laughed. "I wish I had a camera for that one alone," he said with a mock dreamy smile. Fred apperated to the kitchen of The Burrow.

"Fred Weasley, you scared me half to death!" His mother cried. The only response was to peck her on the cheek and offer her daisies. "Oh Freddy! I can't remember the last time a handsome man brought me flowers!" She bustled around to find a vase, and Fred slipped out to find his date.

Hermione was upstairs with Ginny, trying to get her hair to behave. She had taken Ginny to Muggle London with her to hunt for the perfect dress, settling on a plum coloured dress that hugged her curves. She was self conscious about it now, she was sure Ginny must've used a confundus charm on her to convince her to buy it. But it had cute capped sleeves and made her feel very adult, so she tried to fight back the feeling her school rules had drilled into her to switch into black school robes or a jumper. Ginny had painted her nails an electric pink, and had encouraged her to add a little subtle makeup, including a nude gloss. She had added a silver necklace with dangling earrings, and a pair of black pumps.

"Anything else I need?" Hermione asked as she threw her wand and a few galleons into a black clutch.

Ginny looked her up and down, then shook her head. "You look hot," she said with a grin.

"Is it weird that I'm dating your brother?" Hermione asked, looking up.

"Not really. Kind of a surprise which one you picked, but I love he idea of Fred getting all gooey over someone I love."

"Ginny, you're sweet."

"Knock his socks off, Hermione!"

Taking a deep breath, Hermione left and started down the stairs. She had the express pleasure of watching Fred's eyes glaze over, while feeling the terrifying feeling of her heart doing a hard twist at the sight of him. Warning bells went off in her head. Too soon, too soon, too soon to feel this way, she told herself. She swallowed hard and tried to keep cool.

"'Mione, you look amazing," Fred told her, "I'm unworthy." He handed her the bouquet of pink roses and babies breath he'd brought for her, and watched her eyes light up with surprise and a dreamy look that he couldn't identify.

"Fred, they're beautiful!" She buried her nose in the fragrant flowers and inhaled. Her next move was meant to be a quick, appreciative kiss, but somehow was convinced by his lips to stay a few beats longer than intended. When they broke apart she was well aware that they both had silly grins on their faces.

The sound of an all too familiar throat clearing caused Hermione to jump. Ron was standing on the stairs looked like he had swallowed a particularly nasty potion. Hermione blushed and muttered something about finding a vase, ducking into the kitchen and out of the awkward situation.

"Ron," Fred greeted. Ron just grunted in return. "Oh come off it. It's not like you wanted to date her."

"Maybe I do now."

"Maybe you should have considered that before you said you wanted to date around. Did you expect her to wait for you to cat around before coming home to good old safe Hermione?" Ron said nothing, just stared with an ugly look on his face. "There are other wizards in the world who don't see her as a fallback. Besides that, I did my waiting to make sure you had the opportunity to date her, and you were thick headed about it and didn't do anything!"

"And how long did you wait, two weeks?" Ron shot back hotly.

"Try five years, you idiot. I was so pissed when you didn't ask her to the ball and she went with Victor bloody Krum instead when that could have been our opportunity that I pranked you mercilessly until that June. So don't come to me now with a sour face telling me I'm crowding in on your territory!"

Ron's look of surprise mirrored Hermione's from the kitchen entryway. Fred caught sight of her and inwardly swore. "Are you ready to go?" he asked her, an edge still coating his words thanks to his conversation with Ron, and embarrassment at inadvertently confessing to crush he'd had on her for a half a decade.

"Yes," she said decisively, throwing Ron a hurt look. Hadn't they settled this matter?

"Let's go." She accepted his offered arm and let him apperate to a trendier part of the wizarding London that she hadn't spent much time in, Actu Alley, at the beginning of the street. It was crowded with partygoers, shoppers, friends, and couples all for the most part looking much closer to their age than their parents. Unsure of herself, Hermione let go of his arm and glanced up at him.

"Have you really liked me that long?" she asked once she'd gathered the courage.

Fred blushed. "I won't lie to you, Hermione, I did."

"I want to say that I wish you'd asked me out then, but honestly I like the way things turned out."

"What, my brother getting jealous over you?"

"No, you prat. I just meant that now I know for certain that there's nothing between myself and Ron, and there never will be. It's just nice to know that the possibility with him won't be between us."

"Hermione... You always know the exact right thing to say. Let's go to dinner."

He showed her to a restaurant that looked like a hole in the wall, but was amazing inside. They had stepped into an indoor forest, the walls all shrubbery and vines, the tables growing out of the earthy floor, the canopy of leaves and branches above them. Even the air was humid and breezy, but Hermione couldn't fault what this would do to her temperamental hair because she was too charmed by the magic of it all. "Just when I think I'm used to living in a magical world I see something like this," she uttered, delicately fingering a bright red flower growing out of the wall.

Fred gave his name at the reception area and they were seated immediately. The service was quick, the food was to die for, and the ambiance was exquisite. They talked about everything, from Fred and George's plans to expand to Hogsmeade to Hermione's schoolwork.

"Do you know what you'd like to do after you take your NEWTS?" he asked her curiously.

Hermione shrugged uncertainly. "It's a toss up, really. I'd love to study healing but the training takes so long and I think I'm just anxious to start my life at this point. The ministry isn't somewhere I want to be right now either."

"Do you think you'd want to keep going with S.P.E.W.?" Fred asked. "Only, maybe expand it to include other groups of magical creatures?"

Hermione was surprised. "I had thought of it," she admitted. She just wasn't aware Fred had as well. "Who would you include?"

"Well, werewolves for starters. Centaurs, goblins. Maybe poll the major areas to find which other creatures might need representation, or do the reverse math. See which creatures people don't think need representation, those are probably your winners."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "That's brilliant, Fred!"

He glowed with pleasure. "It's been known to happen from time to time."

"I guess the only problem is I'm doing schoolwork right now, and I'll need to find a paying job right away. If I were to start advocating for magical creature rights it would be a non-profit likely for years. I still have all of the money from the sale of my parents house, but it's not as much when it's changed over to gold, and I'd like to buy my own house with it some day."

Fred put his hand over Hermione's. He knew that she had lost both her parents to the war - not dead, but gone. The memory charm she had needed to use to protect them erased and altered almost every one of their memories for eighteen years. She had made sure to go back far enough to remove even the memory of pregnancy. A spell like that could not be reversed without driving the two mad. They were truly better off where they were in Australia.

She had wisely used a series of charms and Fred himself actually (he was renowned for his handwriting forgery) to help pass the money from the sale of the house to her. Her reasoning was that her parents had made a killing when they sold their practice to move, and she needed financial backing. She wasn't sure what she might need for the war, if she'd have to hide out for years even. When the war ended she had been left with quite a bit of cash that she had no way to return to her parents. She had so far just been living off of the sale of the things inside the house; bedding, furniture, dishes, the piano. Monica and Wendell Wilkins had been in a hurry to drop all their possessions for the big move. As Mrs. Weasley refused to charge her rent the only time she ever spent any money was when she was eating out or, most recently, a shopping trip with Ginny.

"You could always work for the shop," Fred offered.

"The shop isn't even open yet though," she pointed out.

"Exactly! And it's not open because we need more time or more help to make products, get the store itself a usable space again, shelve products, help sell things during busy times... And we've been thinking of hiring someone to do the books."

"Would this be part time or full time?"

"Well right now we really need someone full time so that we can open quickly. Every day we're closed we're losing money. But once the store is actually open we'll only need a part time salesperson, and then the books. So it would be in between part and full time at that point. Plus, if you had more time we could always add more hours as you want them so that we can work on restocking or creating new items."

"That sounds like a really amazing deal, Fred. What's the pay like?"

"Wage laws say we have to pay 9 sickles, 15 knuts an hour. But we offer 1 galleon 2 sickles 2 knuts, about twice that."

"Why?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Because we want to be known as employers who pay well, and we know that the cost of living is ridiculous compared to the minimum wages. It's not fair to ask any less than that to be honest."

"That sounds wonderful, Fred, though I do have two concerns." She paused, sipping an after dinner cappuccino that she'd ordered. "I wonder if George would mind me working there, and more importantly I'm worried about us working together while we're involved."

"George won't mind," Fred assured, "Though I would have ran it by him first anyway. As for you and I, I don't think working together will be a problem."

"But what if we have a fight, or break up or something?"

"Hermione, I just can't see you getting so upset as to lose professionalism, and I know that the store is the most important thing I've ever done, or ever will do. If something happens, we'll work it out." She cautiously agreed and Fred said he'd check with George, but if all went according to plan she could start immediately.

They strolled together arm in arm after dinner, enjoying the atmosphere of the night in a trendy part of town.

"I've had the most lovely evening," she said as they stopped to listen to a violinist playing for gold. "I can't imagine anything that would make it better."

"I can," Fred said, tossing a Galleon into the man's case with a wink. Taking the hint he switched to a slower, more romantic song. "Dancing." He told her, taking her into his arms.

Hermione let a little "Ooh!" escape her lips, and swayed with him. It's going to be hard, she thought, not falling head over heels in love with him. They danced under the night sky, and Hermione could hardly see for all the stars in her eyes. He kissed her when the song ended, and she felt herself slip a little more into the danger zone.

They walked a while longer, before Hermione suggested he take her back to The Burrow. "It's getting late," she told him, "And you know how your mum is." She took his offered arm and he apparated both of them to his family home.

And though he was sorry to wrap up their evening, he could at least be content with his extra long goodnight kiss at the door.


	5. Chapter 5

The next two months passed in a blur. Hermione started working with the twins, and did her schoolwork with fervour. She found that she knew most all of the spells, but was still in a tizzy about doing well. On top of both of these things she was applying for non profit business licences and other such paperwork, as well as dating Fred whenever she possibly could. He took her to dinner, dancing. She took him to a Muggle carnival, and to the movies.

One day Hermione went to a toy store and found water guns. She attacked the twins, and they ran around the flat screaming and ducking behind furniture, trying to soak each other once she tossed them each their own toy gun.

Just when they thought they had her beat, Hermione started throwing water balloons she'd hidden under the sink. And bombarded them until they cried "We give, we give!"

"To whom do you address?"

"Water Fight Queen Hermione Granger!" came a voice from behind the sofa.

"Not good enough!"

"Supreme Empress Of All Water Fight Related!" came the other voice.

"Accepted," she informed them, and they rose from behind the couch with hands raised, sopping wet.

She was holding a water gun in one hand, and a water balloon in the other. She was less wet than Fred himself, but still sopping. Her hair was everywhere, spurred on by the water. Her t-shirt was clinging to her, and she was clearly holding back laughter at the sight of him. He knew because her eyes were lit from within, and soon she broke, a giggle escaping and turning into a flood of laughter. She was the most beautiful girl in the world. "I love you," he informed her, not caring that they were in a living room with his brother, chaos all around them.

"W-what?" Hermione asked, trying to reign in her laughter.

"I said, I love you."

Hermione dropped her hands, the squirt gun falling, the balloon exploding on the floor and soaking her feet. She didn't care. She ran to him, and their wet clothes squished together as she leapt atop of him. He caught her in his arms, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. She was kissing him hard, and only stopped between kisses to let him know, "I - love - you - too!" He walked her into his bedroom, and slammed the door behind them.

"I guess I'll just clean up then?" George called indignantly, but he even he couldn't hold back a grin.

Fred cast a silencing charm as well as a locking charm, while Hermione cast drying charms. Then they tossed their wands aside and attacked each other. He pinned her against the wall, kissing her roughly, charged with emotion. She responded in kind, unable to do otherwise. He was too much for her, too much fun, too charming, too romantic. What else could she do but fall in love with him? She framed his face with her hands as he lifted her up and carried her to the bed, setting her down gently on top.

Gods, she was a dream. Sexy, wicked intelligent, with sharp wit. She could do anything in the world she wanted, and her greatest ambition was to help the less fortunate. She saved his life at the risk of her own. She had been through a year of hell and was the strongest woman he knew, and he was crazy about her. His heart swelled when he looked at her. And then, she bit her lip in the slightest of hesitation before taking off her shirt. Fred hissed in a breath. They had been together for months now but Fred had been careful not to push Hermione into going further than she wanted to. Now, it seemed, as she pushed her jeans down over her hips, that she was ready for him. He made quick work of his own clothes, and fell on his knees at the foot of his own bed.

"Hermione." Her name was like a prayer on his lips. "Are you sure you want to -?"

She nodded. "I'm ready."

They had talked about it before; she was a virgin, and while she wasn't particularly attached to that status she wasn't one for sleeping around. She wasn't going to sleep with someone just to get it over with. He had promised to respect her to know the right time, and didn't need her to tell him how nervous she was. He could see it on her face, in the way she couldn't quiet her hands, the way she bit her lip. He was nervous, too. He didn't want to hurt her, didn't want her to come away from the experience not enjoying it.

He crawled on top of the bed with her, kissing her as he had so many times before in hopes that it would make her less nervous. It was different now, though, that she loved him. It was more than a kiss. She arched her back and pressed her body to him. He seized the opportunity and reached underneath of her to unhook her bra in a practiced motion. He tossed it to the floor as he had done months ago, and reached his hand down to slip underneath of her knickers. He found her, wet and urgent as she pressed up against his hand. He focused solely on her, concentrating on bringing her pleasure. He didn't know if he would be able to be so patient when they finally joined. He had brought her to the edge so many times before, but it was still an incredible thrill every time. When she had finished he gently removed her knickers for her.

When he slipped inside of her, he could only gasp. She was so wet, so tight, so amazing. He saw the pain on her face though, and went very still. Beads of sweat formed on his brow with the effort of not moving inside of her. He kissed her gently, and whispered "Are you okay? Should I stop?"

"No," she said in a strained voice, "Don't stop. I just have to get used to - this is so new. I'm so... full." She held onto him tightly, and after another minute encouraged him to go ahead.

Thank Merlin, Fred thought. He had been about to lose his mind. He started slowly, a gentle rhythm building between them. He reached down and found her hand, and guided it between them an onto her clit. She obeyed, and it wasn't long before she was bucking and writhing. His speed increased, spurred on by the moans and gasps of his lover. Hold on, Freddy, he encouraged himself. He wanted the release so badly, but she sounded so close to it herself. Only when she clenched around him, screaming, did he allow himself to let go. He buried his face in her neck as he did, moaning her name into her skin.

Fred rolled off of her with a grunt, and Hermione laid there panting. "You ok?" he asked for the second time.

He was answered with a breathy laugh. "I feel like a bomb went off," she told him. He made a puzzled face. "Like... Like..." she struggled for a wizarding equivalent, but failed. "I'm sore and tired but I have adrenaline and my heart is beating fast. I can hardly move. I can hardly think." She hesitated when he chuckled, and asked, "Is it always this way?"

Fred gathered her close in his arms. "Hopefully," he told her, "Though next time I'm sure you won't be so sore."

They were essentially inseparable after that day, and even Molly had noticed. She had hinted that Hermione should spend a little more time at The Burrow now that summer was winding down. Ginny would be going back to school soon, and Harry and Ron had decided to go through the Auror training. They were allowed entrance despite not taking their seventh year by special circumstance by the minister. After all, who was going to tell the very people that defeated Lord Voldemort for good that they weren't qualified to fight dark wizards?

She had helped them move into Grimmauld Place in August, after spending a few weekends helping to clean the place.

"Are you sure you don't want to move in?" Harry had asked for the millionth time. "There's so much room. And look, we added more windows!" He gestured to the one way windows they had learned how to create. The sun could come in, and they could look out, but no Muggles could look into the magical house. The house was more livable than it had ever been. "And you know Kreacher is so much better now."

"I know - and I've really missed you with everyone being so busy," Hermione said, twisted up inside. She wanted to tell him yes, he was like a brother to her. She hated saying no to him. "But I've got so much going on, now isn't a good time to move."

Harry gave her a look. Moving took almost no time when you were magical. You packed everything with a spell. You lightened it and apparated. You unpacked.

"Really? Keep in mind I just moved."

Hermione blushed. "Alright, I'm not sure I want to live with Ron," she admitted, and he nodded. "But I really do miss you!"

"Me too. Why don't we get together once a week? We'll get food or watch a movie or something."

Hermione's face lit up. "I'd love that," she told him emphatically.

"How are things going with Fred?" he asked with a grin.

She blushed again. "Amazing," she admitted. "I'm having so much fun and... he loves me, Harry." She glanced around quickly to make sure Ron wasn't there. "I never thought that it could be like this! The dating, and sharing yourself with someone, and the intimacy." she broke off there and grinned when Harry gave her a look of mock horror.

"Well, I'm happy for you," he told her. "We've all been through so much, you deserve to be happy. You look like you're wearing an anti-horcrux, you're just beaming."

Hermione laughed. "It's love, Harry! How are you doing with Ginny?" They had officially gotten back together right after the war. She knew from late night talks with her that the redhead had never been more thrilled. "She's going to be going back to Hogwarts soon."

"Yeah," Harry said, "But she's going to send me the Hogsmeade schedule, and I'll see her on the holidays. Plus, I'll be training as an Auror. I've already been warned that I'm going to be falling down tired. Hopefully time passes quickly."

"I'm sure it will," she agreed, then caught sight of his watch. "Oh! Harry, I've got to go," she said, "I've got to meet someone at the ministry about qualifying for a non-profit grant." She kissed him on the cheek, called a cheerful goodbye to Ron, and apperated out.

Fred opened a ring box, and turned it around on the table. A diamond ring sat inside nestled amongst velvet. The band was platinum and crafted by goblins, the main diamond was a large square solitaire. The band had split shanks, connecting the square at each corner, and was covered in smaller, round diamonds until the band became one again halfway around. He had optimistically purchased a diamond studded wedding band as well.

"Don't you think it's a little early for us to marry each other?" George asked sassily.

"You're such a prat," Fred informed him. "What do you think? Will Hermione like it?"

"It's a little bigger than I imagined her wearing."

"Yeah, I found a diamond the size I thought she'd normally wear and then found the next size up. I figure women all secretly want a big engagement ring."

"Safe bet. It's quite the ring. Are you sure you want to get married?"

"She's the one. It's something I can feel right down to my bones."

"Mum's gonna flip."

Fred winced. "Don't remind me. I won't be able to go around for supper without being attacked with wedding plans."

"You could always elope."

"And get a lifetime of scorn from dear mum and dad? That's much worse."

"Better long term to let them go crazy for a few months and get a lifetime of peace," George agreed.

Fred shut the ring box, tucking it into his pocket. "Speaking of long term," he said, "I took a look at our books. Hermione's got them in such good order by the way it's a little frightening."

"And?"

"And I think it might be time to buy Zonko's. Zonko is ready to retire, he said so himself the last time we visited. And since we re-opened the shop our sales are back where they used to be."

"Zonko's is smaller than this place," George said. "And it would get less business until Hogsmeade visits and the holidays. We would be doubling our expenses but not our profits.

Fred could only grin.

"There's something you know that you're not telling me," George declared.

"Right you are, dear brother. I've just gotten word from Headmaster Minerva McGonagall that Hogwarts is expanding their Hogsmeade trips - to every other weekend."

George's mouth dropped open. "We're gonna make a mint, Freddy!"

The did a jitterbug dance in the living room, not pausing when Hermione apperated in except to pull her in to join them. "Wh-what are we celebrating?" Hermione puffed, out of breath from the impromptu dancing.

"Just talking about expanding," Fred yes her in. Then he leaned in to kiss her. "Mmm. Hello, beautiful."

She laughed. "Hello yourself."

Fred clinked his glass, and everyone turned to look at him. He cleared his throat. "My parents have been married for 30 years," he said. They were in the middle of celebrating this joyous occasion, and he watched his father take his mothers hand. All the siblings had gotten together to throw this party, and his mother didn't so much cry as take breaks between crying. "They've been through two wars. They've been through good times, and bad. They've been through seven children, and two of them were the most trouble makers Hogwarts ever saw," he boasted.

George raised his glass with a hear hear, and everyone laughed. "And through it all they've been a shining example of what it means to love someone. Loving someone doesn't mean never getting mad at them, or keeping score. Loving someone is putting their needs above their own every time. It's a kiss when they come home every day, no matter what's happened that day. It's a respect that can't be matched. For mum and dad, it was a Celestina Warbeck song that they dance to every year."

This cued George, who shot his wand at the record player. Cauldron of Hot Strong Love started playing, and his parents both laughed. "Love is knowing you've found the one for you, because you can't imagine how you got along without them before you met, and you know you'll be together for the rest of your lives." He set his champagne flute down on the nearest table, and took Hermione's hand, urging her to stand and join him. She immediately blushed with everyone focusing on her now too. "Mum, Dad, I learned from watching you that the most important thing in life is love, and I always knew I'd want the right partner to share my life with. And I know I've found her." He got down on one knee, and he heard his mother sniffle, and his girlfriend gasp. "Hermione Granger, will you do me the honour of being the newest Mrs. Weasley?" He opened the box, but she didn't even look at the ring. She was too busy staring into his eyes, tears streaming down her face.

"Of course I will," she told him, "Yes, yes, yes!" He breathed a sigh of relief with the breath he hasn't known he'd been holding, and the whole crowd of his friends and family clapped and cheered. He slid the ring on her finger, and grabbed her in a hug as he stood up, spinning her around in his arms.

She swiped at the tears on her cheeks, laughing. He kissed her, and felt happier than he'd ever been. He would never need another happy thought for his patronus again, he figured. This one would do him for life.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione travelled quickly through the streets of Muggle London, anxious to get back to her wizarding world. She had Floo'd into Hogsmeade and walked from there to meet her professors for her end of August meeting regarding her NEWTS. She had been pleased when the consensus was she could take her tests any time, and picked McGonagall's brain about some Transfiguration theory. She had Floo'd back into the Leaky so that she could do some shopping in Muggle London, maybe find a dress for her wedding (June third was less than ten months away, but she was sure it would go by quickly), and she found herself feeling displaced. She had no ties here anymore without her parents, and found herself visiting less and less frequently. She had always been comfortable here at least - but not today.

She had been through a war. She had been tortured, almost killed. She was sure she had killed. She had gone through almost a decade of fighting Voldemort indirectly, and his followers directly. She knew that she was bordering on paranoid some days, but she also knew that her instincts were rarely wrong, and she was seriously creeped out. She never saw the person that was following her, but she knew they were there. Close. The problem was that she couldn't apparate in the middle of crowds of muggles, but she didn't feel safe breaking from the crowd. If she could just make it to The Leaky Cauldron, she could apparate to Fred and George's flat immediately from there.

She didn't make it.

"Hermione, dear! Where were you? You were expected back hours ago." Molly frowned at her soon to be daughter in law, frowning. "Are you alright?" The brunette looked positively frazzled.

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione assured distractedly. "I'm popping out again though. I need to see Fred."

"Wait - don't go yet. We've known each other a long time, Hermione, and I can tell when something is wrong. Do you need to talk about it?"

Hermione glanced at the fireplace, where she wanted to run and Floo into Fred's arms. Then she looked back at Molly Weasley and saw something that she couldn't resist - a mother willing to comfort her. Lacking her own, she sighed and changed course, surprising Molly by crashing into her with a desperate hug. Molly cooed gently at Hermione, maternal instinct in full force, and all of a sudden Hermione felt the urge to cry.

"There now, what's so bad?" Molly asked, reluctantly letting go of Hermione to shoot her wand in the general direction of the kitchen to start tea.

"I was walking in Muggle London," Hermione started, describing to her the fear that she had felt. How vulnerable. "It was just a wizard, he recognized me, knew I was applying for grants to help creatures with less rights than wizards. He wanted me to go with him to meet my first potential client."

"You didn't go with this man?"

"No, I didn't go anywhere alone with him really. I was close to the Leaky so we stopped in. Tom knows me there, so it felt safer. We couldn't talk about those things on the Muggle streets."

"Good girl," Molly praised under her breath, leading her to the kitchen when the kettle whistled. "And then what happened?"

"He told me about his friend, Garrock. He's a werewolf, and can't afford his wolfsbane potions anymore. He's afraid he's going to run out and hurt someone. He's been in seclusion, you know, since he was outed a while back. He told me the whole story and I just felt so awful for him. Shunned by his friends and family, living in poverty. And it - it just made me remember Professor Lupin, and his struggles. And it hit me that there are so many people and creatures I want to help, and I might not be able to."

She made her tea, steadier now, adding milk and sugar. "I don't know what I'm doing," she admitted, a bitter pill to swallow. She had always known what she was doing, even on the run. "What if I let everyone down and do a terrible job? Or, worse, I don't get funding after all? It's going to be so hard, and I would be doing it alone. I've always managed, but I've always had Ron and Harry, and they're so busy with auror training, and Ron never took this stuff seriously. I couldn't even pay people."

Dejected, Hermione sipped at her tea, and nibbled at one of the homemade biscuits that Mrs. Weasley laid out for her. Molly sighed. It would certainly be an uphill struggle for the girl. Wizards did give a rather blind eye to most creatures, and feared werewolves. They disliked goblins, and she had heard horrible stories that even made her feel sorry for lawn gnomes. But she certainly saw no reason for her to do it alone.

"Hermione, dear," Molly started, placing a hand over the girls. "You know, Ginny is finishing her schooling this year and she's my last - I've spent a good twenty five years caring for my children and my home. Why, I hardly even know what to do with myself anymore. Do you think that I could help you?"

Hermione's eyes brightened, a hopeful smile on her face. "You would help me?"

"Of course, dear! I haven't much to do these days - I find myself making up projects to do around here now that the war is over. I could put in a whole day's work once you've got the paperwork cleared and we have a plan of action. I might not be so good at all the legal business as you might be, but I can certainly brew a wolfsbane potion. What do you say?"

"I say... Welcome, Vice President Weasley!"

"Please," she glowed with pride and a little embarrassment, "Call me Molly. After all, we're almost family, and now working together."

Hermione opened the thick envelope of parchment the harassed looking owl dropped off at the breakfast table. She shrugged when Fred asked about it, and opened it, breaking the ministry seal. Dear Ms. Granger, We are pleased to inform you...

Hermione stood up from the table, her chair knocking back behind her. "Molly!" She cried.

"What is it dear?" Molly Weasley ran from the kitchen. "What's the matter."

"We got the grant! WE GOT THE GRANT!"

The two women screamed excitedly, and ran to each other, jumping and hugging. Fred stood up and lifted Hermione in the air once the two women had calmed down a little.

"I told you that it'd happen, didn't I?" He crowed, kissing her.

"Oh my goodness! It's really happening!" Hermione read the letter again, feeling the foolish urge to frame it. She had a non-profit business licence, permission to use a ministry lawyer to aid in research and documents, and a grant of a thousand Galleons with the stipulation that she meet with the Department of Magical Grants and Research in order to gauge the success of her organization and determine if funding would be allowed to continue. All she had to do was send back the name of her non-profit to put on record. "There's so much to do! But I've decided on a name," she said proudly to her fiancé and Molly Weasley. "We are now to be known as the Remus Lupin Foundation for Magical Creatures."

"That is a touching tribute," Molly said, dabbing at her eyes.

"I want to start with werewolves," Hermione asserted. "Job placement, free wolfsbane potions, repealing discriminations laws. I have plans to do small projects for many different creatures, but I think that werewolves are a good start for the bigger projects. They're most like humans, I think, and we'll be able to make some headway that will clear the road for other magical creatures as well. With a thousand galleons we'll be able to rent a work space, start brewing potions - oh, Molly! I can't thank you enough for volunteering."

"It's nothing, my dear," said Molly, beaming with pride. "To help you, and others with less rights, what else could I do but volunteer?"

"We'll need more people," Hermione said. "I still need to earn a living, so I'll have to get more people to help. Maybe some other people who could help part-time to fill the gaps."

"Um, Hermione," Fred said. "I could help in the off hours. I'm sure George would too. In fact, I bet if you put a call out to Andromeda Tonks, the rest of our brothers and sister, you'd have a full staff in no time. Besides the fact that I have some friends from school that would just love to help with things like this."

"Really? Who?"

"Katie, Alicia, a few other people from my year. Hey, I bet you could even get a few summer interns when school is out. This type of thing looks great on a resume."

"I never thought about that!"

"And there is one other... I would love to support you in this any way I can."

"I really appreciate you willing to help out," she told him sincerely. "I didn't have such support with S.P.E.W. Ron used to make fun of me."

"Yeah, well, Ron's a git," Fred said casually. "What I mean to say though, is that we're going to be married in a few months. And I know that we never really talked about financials, but the shop is doing rather well. Ah," he ran a hand through his hair nervously. "You could work the Remus Lupin Foundation full time if you wanted to. George and I own the shop outright, which includes the flat. And I make more than enough for us to live on."

"You mean you'd really support me, financially too?"

"Well, yeah. I don't want you to think of yourself as a kept witch or anything!" He was clearly worried that she'd be offended. "But we're a team, yeah? It's not going to be my money anyway, soon enough it'll be our money, legally."

"I never even thought to ask - I mean, I always thought I'd work and be bringing something in."

"But this is so important to you, and will be important to a lot of people soon. I'm just saying, you can do what you want. You can keep working at the shop part time, or you can take advantage of being married to a co-owner and use that financial freedom to follow your dream. But if you're working at the shop just to bring in money, I'd like to remind you who pays you, love."

"Fred, you're - you're -" She broke off, and jumped on him. He caught her easily and gratefully accepted her kiss. "Amazing," she finished. "Thank you for understanding how much this organization means to me, and giving me a way to put my whole self into it."

After some discussion, it was George that decided to move to Hogsmeade. It was no small decision, mostly because the twins had realized they wouldn't be able to live together anymore once the new shop was up and running. They wanted one of them living above each store, figuring it would be easier that way. George made the argument that he should be the one to go, since Hermione had managed to rent a space near Diagon Alley - she wouldn't even have to apparate or Floo, she could just walk to work. Besides, he decided to use the new digs to invite Katie to move in with him, and she loved Hogsmeade. And so just after Halloween Fred, George, and Hermione spent a whole day to help arrange George's new flat.

"You're welcome back any time for visits," Fred insisted.

"And the same for you," George replied eagerly. They could count on one hand the number of nights they'd spent apart. Hermione cleared her throat, and the twins looked at her.

"I, ah, got you guys something," she admitted shyly. They gave her an identical puzzled look. "I was in Muggle London the other day and thought of you two. Remember the two way mirror I told you that Sirius gave Harry? It works kind of like that, but for voice only. It's called a cell phone."

"Is that like a fellytone?" Fred asked, taking one of the twin brick Nokia's.

"Yes! Exactly. But this one you can carry around with you."

George furrowed his brow. "But I thought you couldn't use Muggle stuff here."

"You can't, really. There's too much magic in the air for that. This is a magically modified version. I did some research and it wasn't too difficult to link these up to each other actually." It had only taken days of trying and three sets of fried phones. But who was counting? "No wizards will have these, so I programmed your numbers in. See, you just press '1' to get George..."

She pressed the button and immediately George's phone rang, the tune she picked out ringing loudly. George dropped it. Hermione picked it up quickly and showed them both the buttons. "See, you just press the green button. Now talk into it like you would if Fred was in the room."

"Er, hello?"

Fred grinned. "This is genius," he said into the phone, and they both laughed. She showed them how to hang up, how to turn the volume down and off, and how to speed dial. They only had each other's number, and Hermione's. She had gotten one too, for emergencies, and had programmed herself as '2' in both phones.

"This way if you need to talk business but don't want to leave your shops, or you miss each other, you can just call each other," she explained. "Or if I need you, Fred, I can get a hold of you right away. Do you think you'll use it?"

"Hermione, darling," George said, putting his hands on her shoulders and leaning in to give her an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek, "I can't remember ever getting a more perfect present. Thank you!"

"Yeah, this is amazing!" Fred exclaimed. "Very thoughtful. And bloody useful too. Do you think you could show us how you did it? So we can make something similar for the shop? A two way communicator, that'll pay our kids way through Hogwarts for sure." Warmed through, Hermione blushed. Then they started talking business, and Hermione excused herself to Floo back to The Burrow for some promised wedding planning with Molly.

She had chosen emerald and sapphire for wedding colours, and was pleased to have the wedding at The Burrow. They would be married under an arch that Arthur was currently designing, to be set up against the backdrop of the pond. Fred had obtained a tuxedo with a lavish top hat, much to Hermione's amusement, and had gotten George and Bill outfitted much the same - minus the hat. Hermione and Ginny had found the most stunning green halter dress for her maid of honour, and had put bridesmaid Luna the same dress, altered to have off the shoulder sleeves and coloured blue.

The seating chart was handled entirely by Molly - none of Hermione's family would be attending, so it was mostly Fred's friends and family, with a list of everyone who Hermione went to school with that she thought might like to be there. She listed all of her year mates with a plus one, and a few others as well. She invited all of her teachers as well, as she had always been on better terms with them than her dorm members.

The food, music, and general order of events was settled. All that was really left to do was create wedding favours and find a dress. When she told Molly this, she shook her head. "Maybe just wedding favours, my dear." Hermione stared. What did she mean?

"Well, I hope you don't mind me putting my hand in here - and please feel free to say no if it's not what you want - but follow me, dear."

She followed Molly, confused. She had picked up a wedding dress? She had been putting off looking, and hadn't done more than window shopping since her foundation had been given a grant. She had been so busy making wolfsbane and finding job placements that she hadn't had the time. She stopped with Molly outside of her and Arthur's closed bedroom door.

"Like I said, it might not be what you want, but..." A clearly nervous Mrs. Weasley pushed the door open, and Hermione took a step in the room, and then saw it. It was definitely a wedding dress - tea length, pristinely white, strapless, and with subtle ruffles that she knew would make her look like a white rose. She knew the dress well, right down to the small floral buttons that she knew would be on the back. She remembered suddenly trying on the dress when she was way too small for it, humming a tune and dancing by herself. Knowing it had been cleaned but that it still somehow smelled of her mothers perfume. Longingly browsing picture albums that heavily featured this dress, wishing she had been there for her parents wedding. It wasn't until Molly pulled her close into a warm embrace that she realized she was crying. silent tears were streaming down her face.

"Mum's dress," she managed through the tears.

"I knew you couldn't have your parents there. But I thought, a part of them would be nice. We can put it away if it's too painful."

"No! No, it's perfect, really. I just wasn't expecting - how did you -?"

"I asked Fred about it," she told her, "Since he helped with moving everything and transferring everything to your name. He remembered that you put a few things in storage, and, well, it was there."

"I never even thought - Molly, thank you," she said emphatically, and hugged her again. "I'm so glad that I'll be able to call you my mum," she whispered.

"Oh," Molly said softly, and Hermione knew the older woman was crying too.

Hermione unlocked the doors to the Remus Lupin Foundation for Magical Creatures with great pride. It had been two months since she had received word that the grant from the ministry had been approved - and one month since it had been received. In that flurry of time she had located and set up the office. The old fashioned double doors led to a waiting room that had been styled with third hand furniture, run down and ugly, but comfortable. Molly had made slipcovers for all of the chairs, and they were a smart navy colour, which matched the floor tiles, white with navy tiles that spelled RLFMC. They had furnished the private office areas with whatever they could beg or borrow, or get for next to nothing from the Muggle thrift stores. A folding table was set up near the entrance which held pamphlets (which she had created) and more information on job searching and housing, as well as medical information for healing.

There were six back office areas, one for Hermione, one for Molly, and four that were neutrally furnished as shared offices for their future volunteers.

She had managed to commit Katie Bell into part time volunteer three mornings a week. Luna Lovegood, whom Hermione had been helping study for her NEWTS that the blonde would take in June, volunteered once a week as she was now running The Quibbler as well as studying. Fred and George came in two nights a week, though Fred told her he could probably come in on Mondays as well. The store was closed every Monday and Tuesday mornings, as those were their slowest business days in Diagon Alley. He didn't want to make the full commitment as he might not be able to come during the development of some products, or inventory time, but he was sure he could make most weeks. He and George would be coming in on Wednesday nights, and furthering her effort by talking to the other businesses in Hogsmeade and the Alley's about hiring displaced werewolves for part time work placements.

She had worked out a deal with St. Mungo's school to get their mediwitch trainees to do a placement program with her non-profit, and would be getting a stack of parchment any day now with applicants. She would be able to select two, and have them each come in one day a week. The trainees would get hours logged in their job placements, and Hermione's clients would get help from Healers to get any non urgent medical treatment they needed. Molly Weasley came in five days a week and brewed wolfsbane from home.

The upstairs flats were not being used as such - although she did have a few camp beds that she was not advertising for emergency situations. The largest bedroom had been converted into a potions lab, and Hermione had spent a good chunk of gold at the apothecary each month to get supplies for wolfsbane. She also kept healing potions in stock, as well as a few useful others. Anticipating that one day there might be a shortage of essential wolfsbane ingredients, as well as attempting to cut costs, Hermione used the second, smaller bedroom with lots of windows as a converted greenhouse. It took some tricky magic to manage the same effect, but she had contacted Professor Sprout to get some tips and was pleased with the results. The professor had suggested Neville Longbottom for help, and he now came in twice a week to check on things.

She had also started to twist a few arms in the work force, trying to find places that would accept werewolves as employees. The good news on that front was that during the war a lot of witches and wizards had been bitten - these were people that the shop keepers could relate to. The trouble was finding enough jobs for the people who needed them - and trying to match the right person to each opening. She had been pleased to offer two replacements for her work at Weasley Wizards Wheezes. Fred and George said it was because she did the work of two people, but she knew they were taking an extra employee on the payroll just to help her achieve success in her foundation. One person was hired for personal assisting and accounting work, and another was hired for stocking the shelves and running the register. They promised to hire another when their Hogsmeade location was open.

Andromeda Tonks wrote to different news publications looking for good press for the Foundation, hoping to garner private donations as well as publicity to make sure werewolves and other oppressed creatures knew the place existed. Before long there was a trickle of magical creatures in need, and by the six month mark of the Foundation opening its doors, a flood. Andromeda, a kind and thoughtful woman, had also pointed out that not all of these magical beings had been able to be educated properly, and suggested starting a tutoring program. Hermione could have hit herself for not thinking of it first, and immediately started hunting down retired professors, education professionals, students who had recently graduated who would be able to tutor a few lessons. She reached out to Professor McGonagall about a long distance learning program for werewolves that wanted to take OWLS and NEWTS. Within a month she had a group tutoring program set up three days a week - the common area of the flats upstairs was converted into a classroom area where Charms, DADA, and Arithmancy were taught. She was working with Professor Sprout and Professor Slughorn to get acceleration programs for Herbology and Potions, but was just working out the details and had been given the green light by the education board for her efforts.

Now she now sat in her office across from someone who she had spent the better part of seven years loathing, her intelligent brown eyes not missing a thing. Draco Malfoy, for whatever had happened at the Battle of Hogwarts, was not to be trusted. But he was to be felt out for a donation of gold to her foundation.

"I thought you had to be joking when I got your owl," Draco said, trying to sneer but his heart wasn't in it.

"I'm definitely not joking," Hermione asserted cooly. "The Wizarding community needs this foundation."

"Why?"

"Because not everyone is happy being oppressed," Hermione informed him, reminding herself that she couldn't change Draco Malfoy, but she might be able to get through to him. "And I know what that's like. But there are people and creatures that have it far worse than I ever did, and that's saying something."

"So you're fine with helping werewolves gain access to victims for the sake of not keeping them down?"

Hermione chuckled sadly. "No, Malfoy. I think the war proved that if werewolves really wanted to run around taking victims, they would. The problem is that a lot of werewolves are down on their luck - there's a stigma and shame around the disease, and they find it hard to work, which means they can't afford wolfsbane, which means that they can't always control themselves. If they had access to education and were able to join the work force, they could keep the werewolf part of them in check, and keep out of packs. They roam together for a reason. No one else will accept them."

"How much money are you asking for?" Draco asked cautiously.

"A thousand Galleons."

"A thousand - you've got to be joking!"

"A thousand Galleons a year, on a five year commitment," Hermione corrected. Draco scoffed. "And I am hoping that if the cause doesn't appeal to you, this will. I received a Ministry grant to start this foundation for, I think, one reason. The Ministry needs a rebranding after all the terror they are now associated with. They happily gave me gold and resources I think because they want me to succeed - and then point to my success and credit themselves with it."

"And you think I want to do the same?"

"I certainly think you should," Hermione implored. "The Malfoy name is no good in the community anymore, and in fact I don't think it ever was. It's been associated with bribes, and fear mongering. Does 'Just wait til my father hears about this' ring a bell?" Draco said nothing, but his jaw tightened. "The one thing Malfoys have always had is money, and loads of it. You are the next generation, and you have the opportunity to do something with it. Use it to be something more than your fathers shadowy legacy."

"I'll think about it," Draco told her as he stood, "But I can't promise you anything."

"You should know... This will buy you respect, maybe. But it will buy you no influence."

Draco paused with his hand on the doorknob. "I am not my father," he told her, not looking back. And with that, he was gone.

Three days later, Draco Malfoy walked back into the foundation. Only this time he didn't see prim and proper Ms. Granger behind a desk - he found her wild eyed and standing in front of a group of werewolves, yelling at a slimy looking man with a sneer on his face. She looked like she was in a protective stance for the crowd behind her, but really was holding them back from the squat figure.

" - can't do that!" Hermione was saying icily.

"I can indeed," said the man, a greasy voice matching his appearance. "I own the building and I have a right as landlord to evict whomever I choose, whenever I choose. The locks on the doors are perfectly legal."

One of the men behind Hermione let out what could only be called a growl.

"You can't evict without notice or a damned good reason! And to lock away their things as well!"

"So sue me," he grunted. "See you in court in a few years. Who's going to judge against a man worried for his own safety? I've seen the whole lot of these folks for what they are, and I won't have them in my building!" With that, the vile fellow pushed past Draco for the door, bringing him to Hermione's attention. With a look that clearly said give me a moment, she addressed the crowd.

"I know you've all lost things, and places to sleep. This is a setback for you, but something we can fix. We'll find you better lodgings, and help you get started again. If you have family to stay with temporarily, please see if you can go there. If not, please sign the form at reception so we can take a headcount, and come back at nine o' clock where we'll place you. In the meantime please remember the full moon is a week away - if you won't be back before then, please see Katie in the back for some wolfsbane."

The crowd grumpily dispersing, Hermione huffed a breath then marched over to Draco. "If you're here to decline to donate in person, I'm not in the mood," she opened testily.

"What was that about?" He asked.

"That oily little - ugh! He heard some of his tenants came here, and scoped it out to see which ones. Then he evicted them just because they're werewolves! They've never missed their rent, they're good tenants. Discrimination at work."

"Can't you fight it?"

"I can, and I will. But he's right, it'll take years to settle and these people are homeless now. And I only have four cots for people to sleep in upstairs. I need to find housing and fast. If you'll excuse me..." She had been bustling around the whole time they spoke, getting quills and parchment, starting letters to people she knew who might take a werewolf for a few weeks while she figured housing out.

"Wait! Merlin, Granger. I came here to tell you I'll donate. The full thousand Galleons annually, a five year commitment."

"That's great. Listen, Draco, I have to deal with this. Can you come by next week and we'll sign papers on it?"

"Okay. I might be able to help you with your crisis, too."

Hermione stopped moving. "How?" She looked skeptical.

"I've been going through our property. My property. I never paid attention to what we owned when my father was alive, so I have to get the lawyers to show me." Hermione remembered with a twist that Draco was orphaned now as well. It was rather highly publicized. His father had drank heavily after the war, and accidentally killed his mother in some sort of altercation. Overcome, he turned the wand on himself. She thought the kindest thing she could do was not address it with him. "Anyways, I've got to dump some properties. I've got too many to oversee by myself, and I'd rather keep my investments manageable so I can see what's profitable and what isn't."

"Okay. What kind of properties do you have that you can sell? Are any of them suitable for living?"

"Maybe. I've got a few possibilities. Clear your day tomorrow and I'll take you on a tour, and you can see what works for you."

"I can be ready by nine," she said, kind of dazed.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

When Hermione related the conversation to Fred he was less than enthused, and they had their first fight. He didn't understand why she had to take help from the likes of him - and she didn't understand why he was being so unreasonable. It was a lot of money for a great cause, if she did say so herself. They butted heads, and finally Hermione had enough, and apperated out of the flat. The second she was gone, he felt like a fool.

Of course she had to take money wherever she could. And no one had more money than Draco Malfoy. He apparated to the foundation, but it was empty. He apparated to The Burrow, but his parents were the only ones there. Finally he apparated to the House of Black, where he was greeted by the sounds of crying coming from the kitchen.

"-don't understand!" he heard her muffled voice cry. "I have to keep the foundation alive. I have so many plans! But I need money, and Malfoy has it."

"It'll be fine," he heard a male voice say, recognizing it as Harry. "It's just a fight. It'll be alright, Hermione."

Fred stepped into the room, and Hermione took one look at him before bursting into tears again. "No! No love, don't cry. Shhh, it okay!" He put an arm around her as Harry, relieved from duty, stepped out of the room. "I'm not mad, love. I'm a git. A first class idiot."

She made some sort of noise between a sob and a laugh.

"Please don't run away like that," he asked quietly, stroking her hair as her cries died down. "We had a fight. It happens. But please don't feel you ever have to run away."

"I didn't want to use tears as a weapon," she admitted, sniffling. "That's not fair."

 _Too bloody right_ , he thought. But said, "Okay. But you can't hide feelings from me either."

"The Foundation just means so much to me, Fred."

"I know. I wasn't arguing you quit or anything. It's just... Malfoy. Old rivalries die hard. Besides, I don't relish you spending the day with some other guy."

"Some other - do you think I won't be able to control myself? Do you think Draco Pureblood Malfoy suddenly decided he likes Muggleborns? Do you think I'd cheat on you with anyone?"

"Well when you put it like that no," Fred mumbled. "It's just that - Hermione, you're this incredibly sexy, smart witch who cares about everyone. I won't be the only man who sees that."

"So this was about jealousy?"

"Pretty much." He shoved his hands in his pockets, embarrassed.

"Fred I... Fred." She laid a whopper of a kiss on him, and when she pulled back his eyes were glazed over. "You are the only man I want. You're the man I'm marrying. I run a charitable foundation, which means I'll be spending a lot of my time with other people, sometimes men, but don't think for a second that I ever want to be with anyone else." That settled, Fred wrapped his arms around Hermione and took them home.

The next day, Draco Malfoy showed up the the Foundation at exactly nine in the morning to pick Hermione up. "It shouldn't take more than the morning," he told her, "But if you want one of the buildings there will be paperwork to deal with, and lawyers."

They saw dozens of properties around the wizarding communities, and even a few in Muggle London. She immediately vetoed the Muggle buildings, perfect as they might be, as she knew that werewolves might have an incident of missing their potions, and couldn't in good consciousness let that happen around Muggles. The morning came and went.

"I hope you're more agreeable choosing what you'd like for lunch than choosing what you'd like for a building," Draco grumped.

"Oh, we don't need to -" Her stomach growled, cutting her off. She looked down at herself and laughed. "I guess we do."

"What's the matter, Granger? Don't want me be caught in public with me?"

"No," she said firmly, "I just want to find an affordable place for my clients to live. But I am hungry."

They found a nearby bistro, and Hermione rolled her eyes at Draco's look of distaste. "Just try it," she ordered,

"You'd be surprised what you'll find under five galleons for a dish." He pouted, but reluctantly agreed that the goulash was 'edible', which seemed to be five stars by anyone else's standards.

"Tell me about my investment," he said between mouthfuls. "What is my thousand galleons buying a year?"

"This year is heavy on werewolves," she told him, "Not just because they're being put into the streets right now, and without wolfsbane they're dangerous. But they're closest to full fledged witches and wizards without the disease. I'm looking to make them relatable in order to change some of the discrimination laws, and pave the way to equal treatment for other magical creatures."

"That's smart," Draco admitted. "A good strategy."

"I feel like I've just been putting out fires, though. I'm worried about the one year review of my grant - that's why I asked for a thousand Galleon commitment from you. With funding for five years set in stone, I'll be able to keep the Foundation running at least that long. And Merlin, I could give you a five year plan, but it's constantly changing."

"It sounds like a lot of your problems are legal."

"You've got that right. If I wasn't so busy running the Foundation I'd get a Wizarding Law Degree so I could draw the damned papers myself. The Ministry offered me their legal services, but they're so slow, maybe because I'm trying to change their laws. It's frustrating. But in the meantime I'm trying to take care of the top four concerns."

"Which are?"

"Wolfsbane, food and shelter, work placements, and continuing magical education. The laws are being worked on in the background."

They finished their lunch, and Draco signalled for the cheque. "Let's see if we can't get housing figured out today," he told her.

The second to last place they visited made Hermione freeze. "This is perfect," she murmured. It was an apartment block that formed three courts, and appeared to hold one and two bedrooms. They were on the outskirts of a small magical community, the buildings backing onto a forest. Mountains were visible in the distance. If someone didn't get their wolfsbane - and she could keep some in a storage room somewhere maybe - they didn't have to hurt anyone. They could go to the field, or mountains.

"How much is it?" She hated to ask. She walked into one of the apartments he unlocked. The building was brick, nice and sturdy. There were little chimneys in each apartment to Floo, each one was two stories with two or three bedrooms. The kitchens were a little small, but there was even storage in the basement. It would be a charity apartment, low rent - but it would look like a real home. They didn't have to feel like a charity case every day.

"Hmmm. This is the one, is it?" he asked, leafing through a stack of parchment he pulled from his cloak. "It's going to cost you."

Hermione's stomach dropped. "How much?"

"Well, technically these are three separate apartment courts. So it's going to cost you three sickles each."

"Three... Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"You're pulling my leg."

"I'm serious!"

"Why three sickles?"

"It's the minimum you can sell a building for, legally."

"You're giving me three apartment buildings. You could make a mint in rent on these!"

"Yeah, I could. But like I said, I'm downsizing."

"But you - I can't believe it. I can't believe that!"

"Believe it. It's the Foundation's now." She must have looked stunned, so he sighed.

"Look, the Malfoy fortune is so huge it is literally taking a team of lawyers to explain it to me. I don't have a family, and I don't expect to. I could live to a thousand and never miss these buildings. The interest on my gold is three times what I could ever hope to spend. Take. The. Damned. Apartments. Besides, it's not that generous. I'll be getting the appraised value back in taxes since you're a registered charity."

"Okay. Alright. Thank you, Draco! I don't care why you're doing this, the fact that you are means everything to me, to what I'm building. To the Foundation, and the people it's helping."

Uncomfortable with emotion, especially from a practical stranger he spent his youth hating, Draco made a noise halfway between a hmmph and a throat clearing. "Well, let's get to my lawyers office. They're on standby. I figure you can get the werewolves moved in tonight if they can conjure some beds."

"I can certainly do it," she said. They apparated together to his solicitors office, and her signature for the Foundation was hardly dry before she Floo'd Molly with the good news. "I need you right away," she said, "I haven't got the Floo set up there yet, so come to the Foundation and I'll get you there."

Molly stood outside of the courts mere moments later, shocked. "They're ours?" she asked, hardly able to believe it.

Hermione held up three rings of carefully labelled keys. "Yes! We have to make these move in ready, tonight if possible. It'll take some wand work, but you're the best woman to help."

"Right." Molly pushed up her sleeves, and gripped her wand. "Well, come with me to the first one, dear. I might be able to show you a few spells that will make your job easier."

A few hours later, the apartments were cleaned, and furnished. Molly had run to the market before they closed and practically bought the place out of milk, bread, cheese, meat, and other essentials as a welcome home gift to the werewolves. They were about to leave when Hermione stopped.

"They need a name," she said. She pointed her wand at a faded sign, and a yellow crescent moon glowed against the wood. 'Crescent Moon Courts' it now stated. She pointed her wand at the two other court block signs and 'Half Moon Courts' and 'New Moon Courts' were also christened.

"You're doing it," Molly said gently to Hermione that night as they parted ways for a well deserved night of rest. "You're helping real people. You should be proud of yourself, Hermione Granger."


	7. Chapter 7

Thirty werewolves moved into the apartment block on the first day. It filled one court, leaving two vacant for the next creatures who would need them. The media, thanks to Luna's featured article in The Quibbler and the Daily Prophets smaller follow up article, stated that an anonymous donor had funded The Remus Lupin Foundation for Magical Creatures a living space for several werewolves at an undisclosed location. It went on to rave about the Foundation and what it's doing, and wrote a strong paragraph on the struggles that werewolves face today, and did a lovely job of reminding people that werewolves were people too. The Foundation received a few donations by owl, and some mixed letters. Hermione had sent Draco a plate of homemade cookies in thanks, and was grateful to run into him while shopping with Luna a few days later. Hermione greeted him warmly, and he stopped to chat out of politeness.

When they parted ways, she noticed that Luna's always pale and dreamy face was tinged with blush and a slight frown. When asked if she was okay, Luna replied, "Oh I'm fine. I just hadn't seen Draco for a while. You seemed friendly with him."

"Well, yes I - he helped me out a few weeks ago," she half-truthed. The platinum blond had expressly forbid telling anyone what he had done, which was a strange departure of behaviour. Maybe he really wasn't like his father.

"I guess I won't see much of him. He doesn't seem like he goes out much." It was a passable attempt for casual for anyone else, but on Luna it seemed downright silly. A gear clicked in Hermione's head. Luna had a crush on him! She couldn't guarantee that he would return the affection, but if he was lonely and seemed to be changing his ways...

"Wait here," she told Luna, and dashed after Draco, catching him just before he went into the ice cream shop. "Draco! Wait. I'm having a get together next Friday at six." Well, she was now. "Would you like to come as my guest? It won't be big, but the food will be homemade and there will be some laughs for sure. Fred, George, Luna. A few others."

Draco hesitated. "Harry and Ron won't be there," she added. "Auror training. I promise no one will make you... Uncomfortable." He nodded, and looked surprised at himself.

"Is there... Anything I should bring?" He asked.

"Just yourself," she assured. "Well, see you next Friday!" And she ran back to Luna before he could change his mind.

"Luna, you've got plans next Friday at six," she told the blonde. "We have to find you something cute to wear!"

She spent the rest of the day dress shopping with Luna, and found the most amazing shimmering blue dress. It was the colour of a clear midnight sky, and in fact the shimmering was indeed stars that looked as they did when you glanced up at them. A galaxy in a dress - and 30% off. "Is it really going to be this fancy?" She asked of Hermione's dinner party.

"I'll dress to match," she promised Luna, having already sent a new dark pink a-line dress to Fred's. "And I'll make Fred dress up, too, which means George will have to! It'll be swanky. It's fun to dress up now and again."

Fred flat out told her that she could throw a dinner party in his flat, and she could invite Draco Bloody Malfoy, but he was in no uncertain terms wearing a suit. A few minute of pleases, and pouts, and he gave in. She also informed him that she was moving in.

"Really? Why now?"

Hermione blushed. "Well, haven't you been asking me since George moved out?"

"And you keep saying not yet. I just want to know what changed."

"I love your mother, but I love you more. I want to be closer to work. And I read a study that married couples last longer if they've lived together first."

"Well - okay then. Let's go get your things!" And they moved her in.

Molly wasn't exactly thrilled about it, but they were only a few months from marriage. She made Hermione a blanket as a housewarming present when she moved the last of her things, possibly knowing Fred and Hermione weren't likely to change their minds so she wanted to appear as though she approved all along. Whatever her reasons, Molly didn't kick up too much of a fuss, and Hermione was grateful. She even gave Hermione her famous treacle tart recipe. She made it Thursday night to serve at her party, along with a few other desserts.

The main course was a full roasted turkey that she cooked all day long, giving the whole flat a scrumptious scent. She made all the fixings with stuffing, potatoes, vegetables, and cranberry sauce. She even made candied yams and mince meat pies. She had also made appetizers, spending the time the turkey spent in the oven making lobster puffs and devilling eggs, even throwing together some canapés. By the time guests started trickling in the wine had been opened, the lights were just a touch dimmer than usual, and a few candles were lit. Soft music played to fill the background, and Hermione was dressed and had her hair done.

Fred came home from work and immediately kissed Hermione in a way that made her feel dizzy. Then he went to take a shower and change into his suit. George arrived a few moments later with Katie, followed by Luna. Hermione was not particularly close with her old school mates, so she had instructed Fred and George each to invite a couple. And so Lee Jordan and Alicia Spinnet, and Angelina Johnson and Blaise Zabini arrived as well. Hermione was particularly pleased that Blaise was coming as Draco would both have another Slytherin present and be shown that since the war, house lines didn't mean much anymore. At least not in her circle. Draco himself showed up promptly at six but was still the last to arrive. He walked out of the fireplace and into a group of people greeting each other.

He was rather surprised to find that everyone was dressed rather nicely. Even Luna Lovegood wore a bewitching dress... His eyes fell onto Blaise, who turned to face him and grinned. "I heard you were coming!" he exclaimed. The two shook hands and spent a second catching up before Blaise re-introduced him to Angelina. No one seemed hostile, or standoffish. Even the Weasley's were nothing short of welcoming. It did become apparent rather quickly that he and Lovegood were the only single dinner guests, though he couldn't tell if that was how Hermione's friend group shook out, or if it was a set up. When he cast a shrewd look at Hermione, she moved away to start pouring wine.

"Red or white?" She asked everyone, and started handing out glasses. Draco was between Hermione and Luna, so he took Luna's glass of white wine and passed it to her. The blonde blushed, and Hermione hid a smile.

Draco saw it too, and wasn't sure what to do about it. She acted aloof, and seemed her spacey self, but she just stopped talking when he got near, and spent a lot of time looking down at her feet. She wouldn't talk to him, but seemed to fancy him. How... Odd. It was nice, really, sort of sweet to have someone be nervous around him for a pleasant reason. His parents wouldn't have approved, though she was Pureblood. But your parents aren't here anymore, are they, he reminded himself. He had to start living his life for himself.

And if that meant chatting with a woman who fancied him and was shy about it, then so be it.

"How's the white?" Draco asked her directly. She met his eyes when he spoke to her, dropped them back to her glass and then up to him again.

"It's rather nice," she informed him, "I like sweet wines."

"You're not a fan of red?"

"I've never had it. I was given white wine first, and I suppose I just stuck with it."

"D'you want to try some of mine?" He offered his glass to her. "So you can see if you like it?"

Luna have a small nod, then took a sip. "It's different," she noted. "Spicier." She swiped her small pink tongue across her pouty lips, and Draco paid very close attention to it. "But I like this too. White wine might be my favourite though."

"Fair enough," he told her. He took the opportunity of their conversation to study the girl. She had pale skin, but seemed lit from within. Her long blonde hair tumbled into loose curls down her back, and her night sky dress hugged the gentle curves on her petite frame. "What are you doing now that you're not at Hogwarts?" he asked. Her eyes were like silver, he decided, not steely like his. Her irises were polished and shining. She had an air about her that he found thoroughly entrancing.

"I didn't want to take the train back to Hogwarts," she said. Understandable, since that was where she had been abducted. "So instead I fixed up my house and I'm taking my NEWTS through distance learning. Hermione helped me sort it all out. Now I own the Quibbler, of course, so there's full time writing, editing, fact checking, and printing. Along with about a million other things."

He had forgotten that she'd have the magazine - since her father was killed after alerting Death Eaters that Potter, Weasley, and Granger had shown up. Though he wasn't sure if he'd be alive even if they caught Potter, and it didn't look like there were any hard feelings between Luna and Hermione. "Is that what you've always wanted to do?"

"Well, I always thought I'd be travelling the world and cataloging new magical animals, studying rare ones. But until I'm ready, I have the Quibbler."

"Luna," She blushed at him saying her name, which he noticed. It was endearing. "I never got the chance to apologize for... for what my father and his associates did to you. Keeping you prisoner, I mean. And what happened to your father. I wanted to help but I..."

"I know," she said simply. "If you could have done something, you would have."

"I wonder every day if I could have done something."

"It's okay," she assured him. "I never blamed you. I don't see how you could have helped without being thrown in the cellar yourself. Or worse."

A silent moment passed between them and Luna, who earlier could not meet his gaze, was now staring at him. It was unsettling. She have the feeling of looking through him into his soul, and he wasn't comfortable with it. He wasn't sure there was much to see. "What," he finally asked her, "are you staring at?"

"I just realized," she said, "I've never seen you smile."

"Well, what's to smile about?"

"You've been invited here tonight as a guest of Hermione and Fred. There is good food, good wine, and good company. Everyone here is happy to see everyone. I haven't laughed so much in ages. Why won't you smile? Are you having a bad time?"

"No, I'm not. I just - there are so many things that weigh on me. And I was raised not to socialize with almost everyone here. It's hard to break out of."

"It seems like you're putting that on yourself," Luna commented. "Seeing as how your parents aren't here anymore."

Draco's hand tightened around the stem of his glass. "Don't talk about my parents," he said through gritted teeth. Then, as an afterthought, added "Please."

Taken aback, Luna nodded, and then mumbled an excuse and fled to the bathroom. "Is she okay?" Hermione asked. She had been keeping one eye on them since he arrived.

"Yes," Draco replied shortly.

"What -"

"She's absolutely dotty," he complained. "She bring up things she has no right to mention, and thinks I won't be upset. She lives in a haze, I think."

Hermione pursed her lips. "That's not really how she is," she argued. Granted, when they had first met Hermione had sang a different tune, but particularly spending time at The Burrow near where Luna lived, and seeing her all the time since she was Ginny's best friend, she had a new outlook on the blonde.

"Enlighten me," he requested.

"She sees the heart of people. She can't help it. She has spent her life being bullied and made fun of but she hasn't a malicious bone in her body. If I were to bet on it, I'd say she has some Seer in her. She's too... all knowing not to. But she's also a little out of touch with reality. It's like she doesn't understand why other people don't speak frankly about what's inside them, because to her it's so obvious, but when you're on the other side of it you feel exposed because she sees things others can't."

"She just doesn't get it."

"No. She doesn't. But she has a pure heart, and is well intentioned. If you can get past that part of her personality, she's a truly lovely girl."

When Luna came out of the bathroom everyone was munching on appetizers and talking to one another. She passed on the food for now, her stomach in knots. She felt like she had blown it with Draco. Not that she had ever had a chance. He was looking at her now. Probably thinking how strange she was, Luna wagered. Wishing he never spoke to her. Why couldn't for once she be normal?

 _Because then you wouldn't be Luna Lovegood_ , she reminded herself.

And all of a sudden he was there, passing her a napkin with a lobster puff and a few other canapés. "You should try these," Draco insisted, "They're rather good." He had seen her pass down previous offers, and felt bad that he had taken the spark from her eyes. The poor girl liked him, and he just shut her down. Where were his manners, even?

When she accepted the napkin he smiled at her, and she beamed back at him in response. "Yes," she said before popping a lobster puff in her mouth, "You should definitely do that more often." He felt an uncommon warmth spread through him at her approval, and was glad to take another glass of wine. He chose white this time, telling himself it was to pair with what smelled like turkey, but knowing it had more to do with Luna preferring it.

Hermione called for dinner, and they all sat around a clearly enlarged table to dine. She sat pairs across from one another, which meant that Luna and Draco, who had arrived as the only singles, were also seated across from each other. To his left was Fred Weasley, and to his right Katie Bell. Between sneaking glances at Luna, trying to figure her out, and digging into a truly wonderful turkey dinner, he couldn't remember a time when he had laughed harder. George Weasley told a bawdy joke, Angelina Johnson shared stories from Quidditch training camp, and Hermione did a spot impression of Professor Trelawney. Even Luna joined in, recounting a story from the DA.

"'Don't worry,' he said, 'I'll go easy on you' - and then she disarmed him so fast and so hard that he fell arse over teakettle!" The table howled with laughter, Hermione shaking her head but wiping a tear of mirth from her eye. Draco felt a pang of jealousy, wishing not for the first time that things had gone differently in school, but he laughed along with the rest of them. He could just see Ron Weasley puffing up in all his misogynist glory only to be put right back in his place.

After dinner the consensus was that no one could touch dessert right away, so they decided to take a night walk. The moon was high, and shone silvery on the cobblestones of Diagon Alley. It was unseasonably warm for late November, and the talking and joking lifted into the air as they strolled up the street. The couples gravitated together, and Draco found himself walking beside Luna. She walked a little slower than everyone else, and he soon found they were lagging. She just looked at everything, taking everything in with her impossibly large eyes.

"Luna." She startled out of her waking dream and looked at him. "There's a fundraiser for St. Mungo's happening next weekend. I'm... obligated to go. I was wondering if you would like to accompany me?" Remembering who he was talking to, he added, "As my date," so that she couldn't confuse his intention. He was asking a girl out and afraid she wasn't going to realize it. He hardly recognized himself. He couldn't remember the last time he had asked a girl on a date, let alone the last time he felt nervous about it. But he thought there was something between them, an energy... Free from the judgement of his family, he was willing to find out what it was.

She looked surprised, and then very pleased. "That sounds very lovely," she said dreamily. "Yes, I would like that. Is it going to be rather posh?"

"Well, yes, I suppose. These things are usually black-tie."

"I'll have to find something to wear - I think Hermione has rather good taste, she picked this dress out."

"You look truly lovely this evening," he said, and meant it. He stopped walking, and turned to face Luna. "I - this isn't going to be easy. If we start dating. I just want you to know that before we get started. I have a lot of things in my past to work through, and a lot of people are going to tell you that this is a bad idea. But I think I'm willing to try, if you are."

Luna considered him for a second, and then seemed to make a decision. She placed her hands on his shoulders and lifted herself on her toes to reach him, presenting him with a feathery kiss as though it were a gift. He leaned into her, and hardly even noticed that it had started snowing around them until he heard a distant wolf whistle. He looked up, and realized that the crowd of other guests who had gotten ahead of them had stopped to wait for them so as not to leave anyone behind, and had witnessed their embrace. "Hell with them," he murmured, and took her into her arms once more. If they wanted a show he'd give them one, he thought devilishly, dipping Luna back and really planting one on her. When he pulled her upright she looked more dazed than usual, and pink in the cheeks.

"We'd better catch up," he told her, taking her hand. A ghost of a smile touched his lips as she accepted his hand, and he felt warmed over completely.

Maybe fresh starts were possible after all.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly, between dessert and coffee and good conversation. Draco wondered when he had ever felt this relaxed - he couldn't think of a time, even when there was some playful ribbing of him and Luna. In the old days he might have said something cold to her and left. These days, having gone so long without warmth and then having her turn her silvery doe eyes on him, he accepted it gladly.

Draco left first, citing a business trip the next day. He thanked his hosts, and every one of the guests bid him a cheerful farewell. He shook hands with the gentlemen, exchanged pecks on the cheek with the ladies. When he reached Luna, he switched gears and gave her a warm but chaste kiss on the lips. "I'll owl you at The Quibbler about next Friday, okay?" At her nod he stepped into the Floo, hearing the women squeal for Luna as he spun away. Why did women do that, he wondered with a shake of his head when he made it home.

He went straight to his parents old wing of the house, and pulled their portrait off of the wall. He heard protests as his parents were tipped, and brought them to the attic. He leaned the portrait against the wall of the carefully swept space, and stood over it with his hands in his pockets.

"What do you think you're doing?" His father seethed.

"I need you out of my life."

His mother clutched her chest. "Draco, dear -"

"No, mother. I'm making decisions you won't agree with. I've changed. I'm doing the right things finally, and I can't have you here sneering at my future guests."

"What guests?" Lucious spat.

"I'm dating Luna Lovegood. I'm involved in Hermione Granger's charity to help oppressed magical creatures. And I just had a dinner party at her and Fred Weasley's flat."

His parents were already dead, but looked like they were dying all over again. He walked out of the attic to the sound of their protests. He walked to his office, pulled a magazine out of a drawer, and then called out to Gramble. An ancient house elf appeared, head bowed.

"Master."

"Hello, Gramble. I'd like my parents wing of the manor redecorated, please." Gramble risked a look up. Draco realized this was the first time he used manners to a house elf. "And I would like you to tell all of the house elves that they are no longer allowed to punish themselves in any way."

"H-how would you like to redecorate?" he asked timidly.

"I would like it to be very brightly lit," he instructed. "Light blue and cream colours. Like this." He pointed to a photo near the middle of the magazine. "I want it to look French. Do as much as you can, and if you're not sure about something, stop. There is no doing this wrong, do you understand? No punishment if I don't like it. We'll just change it. We're going to change a lot around here."

"Forgive Gramble if I speaks out of turn," the elf said, "But I thinks it is a good time for change." Gramble bowed his head again, and disappeared with a crack.

Draco pulled a sheaf of parchment and a fine eagle quill, removed the stopper from an ink pot, and wrote.

 _Luna,_

 _The St. Mungo's fundraiser is confirmed as black tie. It's on Friday, January 23rd at seven o' clock in the evening. I'm hoping you'll meet me at six o' clock at my home in order to arrive together and have a drink before we leave. If this is agreeable, please send your approval via return owl. Just Floo to Malfoy Manor._

 _Yours,_

 _Draco Malfoy_

Because it seemed too formal, he added a hasty post script:

 _P.S. I have been thinking of you since I got home. We may make an unlikely match. You are a golden girl, and I am formerly of the most reviled house and family in the wizarding world, currently in public disgrace. Does that bother you?_

He was pacing his study, preparing his boardroom speech for France the next morning, when his owl swooped in through the open window, dropping a letter next to its perch. The loopy handwriting could only belong to one person, he decided, and grabbed at the letter.

 _Draco,_

 _Six o' clock sounds fine, I'll see you then. It will interest you to know that I have a dress shopping week planned with Hermione. I've never known her to be so keen on shopping. I think she's excited for me, and is as such ignoring her own aversion to trying on dresses. As Fred and George Weasley are also invited to the fundraiser, Hermione is going as well. We've a spa appointment at Bewitched on Friday afternoon to prepare, though I'm not quite sure what happens at those places. I'm hoping I'll leave as me still, just gala appropriate._

 _Truly,_

 _Luna Lovegood_

 _P.S. I imagine we might turn a few heads. I am willing to get to know the current Draco, and accept the past as a road to who you are now. But are you prepared to have people whisper that you must be mad to be with me? I'm not sure if you've heard, but my nickname in school was Loony Lovegood. I am led to believe that I am not a typical girl. My father always said it's because I'm extraordinary, but my classmates said it was because I'm barmy._

Draco snorted at her post script. True, the Draco of days gone by wouldn't be caught dead dating Loony Luna Lovegood - but that Draco didn't exist anymore. He had the whole Malfoy fortune that said he could do as he bloody well pleased, and that included date Luna. He never had to answer to anyone again, and quite enjoyed the freedom. He was really just exploring who he was, removed from the thumb of his father.

He sent an owl to the night clerk at Bewitched's attached hotel, and called it a night, retiring to his bed. In the warmth of his blankets in his soft feather bed, he allowed his mind to replay the dinner party and the snowy first kiss. Content, he drifted off, wondering when he became such a sop.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione hugged Molly when she came through the door. "I'm so glad to see you!" she exclaimed. "I've been doing paperwork all day and my eyes are about to fall out of my head."

"Where do you need me, dear?"

"Organizing a community waterway cleanup," she said, "And sending an owl to Headmistress McGonnigal requesting she get the students and staff involved in the cleanup of the Great Lake. I want the creatures around the castle to see us as non invasive but helpful so we can gain the trust of more difficult creatures."

"I'm on it. Have fun at the fundraiser, dear."

With that, Hermione was off. She met Luna in front of Bewitched and the two ladies checked in together.

"A Miss Granger and a Miss Lovegood?" Confirmed a snooty looking witch who had to be part Veela. "Yes, we have you booked for manicures, pedicures, facials, an hour long massage, and hair and makeup."

Luna glanced at Hermione, confused. Hermione shook her head at the woman. "I think that's a mistake," she corrected politely. "We only booked for the manicures and the facials."

The receptionist made a small frown. "No, miss. I received an owl adding the other treatments. I also have strict instructions to add any other treatments you request, as well as any products you would like to purchase during your visit."

"May I see this owl?"

"No, I'm afraid you can't. It contains banking information for the Gringott's account we're to withdraw from. I do have a note here that I was instructed to give to Miss Lovegood."

Now it was Hermione's turn to stare at Luna. "I'm Luna Lovegood," she informed, and received the note. She read it aloud for Hermione's benefit. "My mother said the best part about going to the spa was going with friends. I hope you ladies have a wonderful time getting gala appropriate. Please tell Hermione to enjoy herself as well, as I'm sure she'll argue the bill. Yours, Draco. P.S. I've never been to the spa myself, but I hear they do all sorts of things to make you feel and look amazing - but don't worry, Luna, you glow from the inside out, and no amount of spa can change that. It's who you are."

"Well," said Hermione as they were shown to their first appointment. The massage room had been set up with two tables so they could chat as they were worked on. "That was certainly generous of Draco."

"Yes, isn't it? We were owling last week, and I mentioned that we were coming here, and that I'd never been. Isn't that lovely of him?"

"Very," Hermione agreed, pleased her impromptu setup had worked. She was a little uncomfortable about Draco paying for their spa treatments, especially knowing the prices of this place, but shrugged it off. Draco was trying to do something nice for Luna, and she shouldn't spoil that.

The massages were, of course, amazing. Hermione had never had one before, and never realized the knots that she carried in her shoulders from all of her reading and drafting documents for the Foundation. "I must be hunched over all day long," Hermione told Luna on their way to their facials. "I never knew how much I needed that!"

"It was quite lovely," Luna agreed, "Though I could have fallen asleep, it felt so good."

They received their facials, and while the goop on their faces worked its literal magic also got their mani/pedi's. Hermione picked a subtle, classic red, while Luna couldn't decide on a colour. She ended up getting a classic French manicure, at Hermione's suggestion. "It'll look classy with your dress," she advised, knowing the orange she had her eye on would clash horribly. "And look! You can get silver sparkles for the tips instead of white!" Talked into it, Luna had to admit she loved the feminine glitter. Although she did choose a bright candy pink for her toes.

When they removed their face masks Hermione remarked that her skin felt brand new. Luna's skin always looked great, she argued, but couldn't deny a dewey glow had been added. "I feel like a million Galleons," she exclaimed.

"And we haven't even done our hair yet."

The hairdressers looked as though they might cry when they saw Luna, who's long blonde hair was always a little tangled as Luna didn't seem to notice it, and Hermione, who's hair was an every day challenge. But then a steely determination crossed a few faces and they were no longer clients - they were projects.

It was a brutal few hours, but the women were treated to champagne as they were pulled, snipped, straightened and curled. Hermione was talked into a relaxing treatment, while Luna was told she had to cut some of her length to keep it healthy. Hermione was also talked into highlights, but Luna refused on the basis of she wouldn't upkeep it. Secretly, she thought that would be losing a little too much of herself.

When the professionals hung up their blow driers and other implements, Hermione had a curled up do with a new golden touch to her hair. Luna's silvery blonde locks were left down, straightened, and framing her face. Even with the cut her hair seemed to flow down her back, and Hermione had no idea how she handled the sheer volume of it.

The makeup was considerably less effort, and Hermione ended up with a coppery brown eyeshadow, some mascara and eyeliner, and lipstick that matched her red nails exactly. Luna had a purply grey shadow with a dreamy shimmer to it, and a light pink gloss. The beautician assured the girls that their lips were charmed to stay flawless for at least twelve hours, or until they used a cleansing spell. No amount of eating, drinking, or kissing would remove the products.

The girls hurried back to Hermione and Fred's flat, having not anticipated the extra treatments. "I'm starving!" Luna exclaimed.

"Me too!" Hermione answered. "Everyone there was so small, I felt like I couldn't ask for a sandwich."

They dumped their bags on the counter, containing a few candles, some makeup, home treatment masks, and nail polish that they had purchased from the spa. They had bought everything that was used on them, plus some extras. When Luna signed for the treatments and products they purchased, Hermione nearly had a heart attack.

"Four hundred galleons!" She made a strangled noise in her throat. "We can't. We have to put some of this back."

"If Draco minded, he wouldn't have offered," Luna said simply, and signed her name with a flourish.

Now that there was nothing to be done for it, Hermione revelled in the experience. She hadn't felt this, well, girly ever. Not even at the Yule Ball.

Luna emerged triumphant from the fridge with sandwich makings, pickles, and an apple. She pointed her wand and the sandwiches started making themselves. She took advantage of the opportunity to eat a pickle, and laughed as Hermione grabbed the bread mid air. "I can do it faster!" She cried, and made two quick sandwiches. They both scarfed the food and felt instantly better.

"If I saw one more glass of cucumber water," Hermione grumbled as she fetched their dresses. She returned wearing hers, a forest green that complimented her hair beautifully. It reached her knees, and the skirt had a fun flare to it. The straps crossed in the back and she felt very flirty while wearing it. Luna hurried to change into her own dress, noting the time. She had to go to Draco's any moment. When she stepped out of the room she practically ran to the fireplace, but Hermione stopped her and did a once over. The deep purple if the dress suited Luna's skin, and the Grecian style dress flattered her petite figure. Gauzy fabric fell to the floor, accentuating the skirt of the dress, though it hugged tight to Luna's torso. It was strapless, with a decorative flower in the same colour as the dress at the waist. "You look absolutely stunning," Hermione assured her. "I'll see you at the fundraiser."

The exchanged a quick peck on the cheeks, and then Luna was whirling away in the fireplace. "Draco Malfoy," Hermione mused, "You have no idea what you're in for."

As it happened, when Draco walked into the sitting room at 6:00 sharp, he saw vivid green flames and couldn't believe his eyes when he saw Luna step out of the Floo. His mouth might have dropped. He wasn't quite drooling, but his mouth filled with saliva.

"Am I late?" She asked nervously.

"Right on time," Draco managed. "Luna, you're a vision," he informed her, crossing the room to lay a delicate kiss on her cheek.

"I think I have you to thank," Luna replied. "It was a very unnecessary and very kind gesture to pay for our spa day. I'm afraid we've cost you quite the load of galleons."

"It was worth every ounce of gold. You're positively radiant. I trust Hermione didn't kick up much of a fuss?"

"Not too much. She did balk at the final bill. It was smart to request my signature instead of hers."

Draco laughed. "I thought as much. Would you like a drink?"

"Champagne, if you have it." It was one of the lovely things about Luna that Draco would find, she had no problem asking for what she wanted. She wasn't shy about it, because why should she be? He didn't like it when women said they'd have whatever. Luna wanted champagne, and therefore asked for champagne. As it happened, he had a bottle chilled. When you had vast fortunes you tended to have most everything available to serve. He called Gramble, and asked him to please bring a bottle of champagne he had set aside, with two glasses. When he returned, Luna thanked him. "I had a friend once... Well I only met him once, but he knew a friend of mine. He was a free elf, named Dobby. Did you know him?"

Gramble looked nervously at Luna, then Draco. Draco nodded. "It's okay, answer her," he instructed. "Please do whatever she wishes, when she asks."

"Yes Miss. Gramble knew Dobby."

"He was the sweetest - he saved my life. I'll always remember him. He was a hero."

Gramble's eyes filled. "Aye, Miss," he managed.

"You may go," Draco said gently, and the house elf disappeared.

"Did I upset him?"

"I think you made him happy. And sad. I'm sorry about that... time. I'm sorry you lost friends."

"I'll remember him fondly," she said solemnly.

"To those remembered," Draco toasted, and she clinked his glass. They drank, and he made an attempt to move to more neutral, if not happier, territory. "Would you like a tour of the manor?"

"Oh, yes please. That would be wonderful."

He lead her from the sitting room, to the dining area. To the parlour, and the kitchens. He brought her through a music room, and she made him stop. "I love the piano," she said fondly, running a finger lightly over the polished wood.

"Do you play?" She nodded. "I never learned. Will you play me something?"

She sat at the upholstered burgundy bench, in her lovely eggplant evening gown, and placed her recently manicured fingers on the keys. She started lightly, and then pressed a little harder on the keys as she grew more confident in her motions. It was a slow, almost haunting melody that made Draco think of being inside ones self. "I hear music all the time," she said over the sounds, "In my head."

"Does it always sound this lonely?" She was so truly lovely all the time, but the war had clearly taken its toll on her, too.

"Most of the time."

He slipped just a little further into whatever this was with her. She stopped playing abruptly when she heard the clock strike seven. "Oh, we're late!"

"When you're rich you're never late. You simply arrive," Draco teased. "We'll be fine, though cocktail hour is the best part of these things."

"Let's go." She picked up her silver clutch from its spot on the piano where she had laid it to play, and picked up her wine flute with her other hand. "Let's make our way to the Floo."

On the way there, Luna remarked that it was too bad his suit had so little colour. He was wearing black shoes, socks, and suit. His dress shirt was black. His tie and pocket square were black. "I can fix that," he told her as he pulled out his wand. He pointed his wand at her dress and uttered a spell, and then a similar one at his tie and pocket square. They bloomed with colour until they reached an exact match for the royal purple shade of Luna's dress. Delighted, she giggled. They finished their glasses and left them in the sitting room for Gramble, and were off to the gala fundraiser.

Once there Draco introduced Luna around. She was able to spot a few people that she knew, though not many. He seemed to know everyone. "It's usually the same people at these types of things," he explained when they had a rare free second. "You've never been to one, so you're new. A fresh face. They want to know everything about you so that they can claim to have known it first."

"Is that why everyone keeps hinting about our relationship status?"

Draco laughed, surprised. She hadn't seemed to notice while everyone was poking around. He saw now that she noticed everything, but either didn't really care or wasn't very interested. She had other things on her mind. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"What would you like me to tell them?" she asked nonchalantly. A nice try, he thought, but no woman asked a question regarding relationship status lightly. She was very interested in his answer he guessed, based on the way her wide grey eyes never left his face.

"I'm not sure what you would say," he told her very carefully, "But I would say that we've started dating. And I think that you are an intelligent, beautiful, warm woman. I'm enchanted. Every moment I spend in your company I like you more."

"I'll just tell them that then," she said airily, and sipped her drink.

"I - you're making fun of me!"

"Yes," she confirmed, her face filled with mirth. And she stood on her toes and kissed him.

"Oi, Malfoy, your PDA is offending the fine citizens of the community, like myself," came a voice, and they both jumped. George and Fred elbowed each other and laughed. Hermione shook her head and leaned in to kiss Luna on the cheek.

"Good evening, Hermione," Draco drawled, pointedly ignoring Fred and George who, in response, mimed clutching their hearts. "How are you?"

"I feel like a new woman, actually, thanks to the spa. Thank you so much, you really shouldn't have."

"It was a good cause," he said. "You both look wonderful."

He greeted Fred and George properly, and asked after Katie.

"She'll be a little late," he explained, "She volunteered to close the Foundation. She should be done by now but just had to run home and change."

The orchestra began playing dancing music, and a few couples floated out to the floor. George snagged a few canapés from a passing waiter, and Luna seemed to sway on the spot with the music ever so slightly.

"Er, Luna," Draco said, taking her hand. "Would you like to have a dance?"

"Oh, yes! Thank you for asking."

He led her to the dance floor, and whisked her into a waltz. It wasn't long before he spotted a few more couples on the dance floor, including Fred and Hermione, and George and Katie, who had shown up. Her shorter dark hair was curled, and she wore a shorter, royal blue dress that looked straight out of the Muggle 50's fashion pages. It was strapless, with a sweetheart neckline, and displayed her chunky gold necklace that looked much like an Egyptian collar and matched her gold kitten heels.

He had never been open with people before, but this group that he had been a part of last week at Fred and Hermione's dinner party were showing him that no backlash could come from being nice, or genuine. It only seemed to win him more friends. With that in mind, he switched dancing partners with George for a song, and told Katie that she looked amazing.

"Thanks!" She said over the band, and let herself be twirled. "I like your tie. You match Luna, it's so cute!"

He learned that she had found several old dress patterns while thrift shopping in Muggle London one day, which had sparked an interest in sewing and design. She admitted that she had actually designed and made her own dress.

"You're joking!" He exclaimed. "You could make a mint at that, it looks like something you'd get in a shop in New York or Paris or something."

She laughed. "Seriously? I just play around with the sewing machine."

"Well you ought to play around some more. Do you design your own clothes?"

"Sometimes. I mean I'm usually doodling and I seem to have an idea or two rolling around my head all the time. I've never seriously tried though."

"You should put a few samples together and show me. I've been dumping a lot of useless properties and investment my parents held onto for some reason. I'm looking at investing in people these days. Help witches and wizards here and through Europe establish some solid business ideas."

"Design and make clothes to sell? Jeez, Draco, I don't know. That's a little out of my depth."

"Maybe, but you're smart. You'd get the hang of it soon. And that's where I come in anyway."

"I thought you were the financial backing?"

"I would be. But I was also raised to know the ins and outs of business, marketing, and how to make these sorts of things happen. My father, whatever else he did, built an empire - and he made sure that I would know how to handle it once it fell to me."

"Do you really think I could do it?"

"Of course you can. I'm looking at a golden opportunity that you could literally create. Don't decide now, but think about it. If you have some designs, even a few dress samples, just owl me and we'll set up a meeting."

I just made a fortune, he thought when he made his way back to his date. And she doesn't know it yet, but she did too. She would go home and think about it, and decide to at least meet with him to discuss the idea. And he would do business with her because he fully expected her to tap into the talent he knew was there. And once she got past her own confidence block, well. Everything would be gravy. He would take a repayment of his initial investment, and then buy thirty or so percent of the company on the ground floor. With her skills and his effective marketing, half the ladies here would be wearing designs by Katie Bell in no time.

He had almost reached Luna where she was chatting with George, when she turned around and smiled at him. It was like a lightening bolt to the heart. What was he even doing with her? He had always thought himself relatively important, but next to her he felt like he had never mattered in his life until she had smiled upon him. He had never felt this way about anyone before, and had certainly not expected to feel this way now.

He guessed that was why they called it falling. It could happen in a second. Even if you weren't ready, suddenly you could be in love. He crossed the distance between himself and his date, and gathered her into his arms. Held close, he kissed the top of her head.

"Hello Draco," Luna greeted him, taking the opportunity to wrap her arms around him in return.

"Hello Luna," he replied. Then he signalled to a waiter to bring two glasses of champagne. He came by with his tray and the entire group refilled. Draco noticed that she thanked the waiter every time, as she had done with his house elf. She genuinely appreciated anyone taking time out to even open a door for her, which he found endearing. Especially at events like these, people generally felt self important and above the help. But Luna took the time to let everyone know they were appreciated. It had the side effect of every waiter tripping over themselves to serve her, and he rather thought he saw some young men with hopeful looks in their eyes. Draco made a point of offering his arm to Luna as they walked around the room greeting people.

The rest of the event passed by predictably - speeches were made, donations were given. Luna had stared at him wide-eyed when he had been called up onstage during the speeches and thank you's to the big donors. He gave a very short but pleasant speech about the money donated to St. Mungo's to fund a new spell damage ward. She applauded a little harder than she might have normally, but she had been taken by surprise that it was really Draco being honoured that night. There were silent auctions, the fundraiser dinner, and a few other events going on that night, but this was the real highlight.

"Why didn't you tell me you were being honoured?" Luna asked when Draco sat down, picking up the plaque they had given him.

"It seemed like bragging," Draco admitted, shifting in his chair uncomfortably. "My father has dozens of these. It's just money - I didn't do anything but sign my name."

"It's a good cause, though," Luna argued. "You can be proud that your money will help people."

"I suppose I can," Draco conceded, without really feeling it. He just didn't want to argue the point with Luna. This is what Malfoys did, and what Malfoys had always done. Give money, get awards, and use the influence it bought you to your benefit.

"Draco," Luna said insistently. "You can." She had caught his fluff off, and wasn't having it. "That money may mean nothing to you, but it'll mean the world to Neville Longbottom. His parents live in that ward full time. It'll mean everything to the families with loved ones in there."

"My family has always treated it as a favour to be returned later."

"Well you can change that. You're the last Malfoy, Draco. You get to decide how the Malfoy name is responded to in the future. It your turn to build a legacy. Take what you were given and do things that matter to you with it."

Her owlish eyes stared into his intently, and he wondered how she made everything seem so... simple. What did he really want to be associated with, anyway? Not fear, or influence, or anything his father had stood for. He could be ambitious without abandoning all morals, scruples, and decency. He could do important things. Good things. Make the Malfoy name respectable again - if it ever was. Fear and respect were not necessarily the same thing.

"I don't know what's important to me anymore."

"You'll figure it out," she told him confidently, turning her attention back to the speeches on the stage.

When the dinner was quite over and the men were pulling out their cigars, Draco and Luna attempted to find another glass of champagne but were stymied by a few reporters. When they asked to take his picture Luna attempted to edge out of the crowd, but Draco caught her arm and gently pulled her back in.

"Draco, who is your date this evening?" Rita Skeeter asked, as if it was the most important question that could have been posed.

"I'm Luna Lovegood," Luna replied, answering for herself. Colour rose on her cheeks with the unexpected attention. But of course it made sense - a huge donation, a dinner in honour, of course there would be some press. She was suddenly glad that she had the extra spa treatments as another flash went off. She had never cared too much about that stuff at school, but when she was around Draco she felt the urge to look her best.

Draco answered a few more questions before stating, "Thank you, but I must turn my attention back to the lovely Miss Lovegood," and he took her arm to guide her away. The press fanned out, looking for other pseudo celebrities and things to fill their society pages with, and Draco sighed with relief. "Sorry about that. I should have warned you." He flagged a waiter and got them both a glass of champagne.

"Did I do alright?" Luna asked self consciously, twisting a silver bracelet around her wrist with nerves. "I'd hate to embarrass you. I'm given the impression that I can be rather... what's the word? Dotty?"

"You're fine the way you are, Luna. I admit during school you were rather out of touch with what was happening around you, but honestly since the war..."

"I've changed. I guess I had reality thrust upon me." The coldness in her voice shocked him, but Luna shook her head gently as if trying to rid cobwebs. "I just mean - I'm not as airy and carefree as I was. And maybe that's a good thing."

"You were calm the whole time you were - you were in the cellar. When they made me go down there, I heard you comforting Ollivander."

"I am not one to rise to anger or hysteria. Things happen as they happen and they do so without my consent. Even if I can see them - well, I can't change them anyway."

"What d'you mean, see them?"

"Oh! Did you not know? I'm a Seer."

True Seers were very rare indeed, and had anyone else made this revelation Draco might have scoffed. But this was Luna Lovegood, the girl who was too honest for her own good, who knew what lies were but simply couldn't understand why people would tell them. "Er - how long have you known you were a Seer?" Draco asked, not knowing anything about the process of discovery. "How did you know?" Of course Granger was right about this - she was right about bloody everything.

"Well," she started, taking a sip of her champagne, "I started predictions quite early. Before school. We weren't quite sure if it was coincidence or not until my mother died. That was one I'd - anyway, we knew then." She very gently set her glass down on the gilded table they stood beside.

He knew she was reliving an unpleasant experience, but he didn't know how to make her feel better. He just didn't know her enough. So he kissed the top of her head, and hoped she'd know that he felt sorrow for her, and want to comfort. A smile bloomed on her face, though she still held a vague look of far away sadness in her eyes. And he suddenly recalled her playing a lonely melody on his piano. There was more to Luna Lovegood, he decided, than she let on. And he knew, just knew, that he couldn't let her go. For the first time he was afraid of pushing someone away, and vowed not to be sharp with her, or mean to her, or anything else he might have done before he had re-met her at Hermione and Fred's just a week ago.

"Luna," he said, mentally rearranging his schedule for the next week, "Would you like to go on another date with me next week? It won't be all of -" he waved his hand at the formally dressed witches and wizards - "this. It'll be just you and me."

Luna positively glowed with happiness then. "Yes, I'd like that."

"I'll owl you and see when's good for you," he promised. "But for now I have to ask you to dance again. You're too lovely not to dance with."

And Luna could feel herself slipping out of her crush and into unfamiliar territory. When he took her hand and spun her around the dance floor, she wondered if this was love. Her heart seemed to agree, jumping in her chest when he kissed her at the end of the evening at her door, in front of her rook shaped house.

"I'll owl you," he promised again, pressing his lips to hers a second time.

"Don't - don't go," she insisted. He kissed her again, and she felt her knees weaken. "I want you to stay with me." Her breath came out in a stutter when he kissed her neck lightly, pressing her back against her door.

"Are you sure?" Draco whispered in her ear. She made a breathy Mhmmm noise that made Draco feel wild, and primal. She reached behind herself to the handle on the door and let them in, and he picked her up in his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist as her arms mirrored the action around his neck. She kicked the door shut behind him as he walked into the house. "Which way to the bedroom?" he asked her, his throat hoarse with want.

"Upstairs," she informed him, then kissed him again.

She weighed next to nothing, he noted. Half of it was hair that smelled like lilacs. He was drowning in her, and he hadn't even undressed her, hadn't done more than kiss her. His heart hurt with the need of her. His cock twitched with its own need, and he deposited her on a very clearly feminine bed. The lights were off save for a lamp that burned on her bedside. But it was enough to see the blonde girl looking up at him in want, and he very quickly found her zipper and pulled it down, ridding her of her lovely dress.

She wasn't wearing anything under the dress. That revelation made him moan lightly, and he immediately felt his mouth fill with saliva. She had been naked under her dress the whole time he had danced with her, taken photos with her, talked to her. He put his hands all over her body, unable to help himself. His hands sought her breasts, hips, and bottom, eager to touch everything while she worked at his jacket, tie, and shirt buttons. When he was free of all that he cupped a hand over her sex, feeling a needy heat flowing from it. Sensing her readiness, he slid two fingers inside of her.

She gasped, and clutched at his shoulders. Then moaned from the back of her throat, and Draco felt he would burn up from want of her. He moved his hand, rocking it in and out of her, and brought his thumb up to swat at her clit. He was rewarded quickly, and intensely, as she called out in pleasure. He could feel her spasming around his hand, and waited for her body to go limp with pleasure before removing himself. He couldn't be bothered to find his wand, and wiped his hand on her bedsheets. He had more pressing matters to attend to, he figured, standing and quickly kicking his shoes off, then unbuttoning his pants. He pulled his pants and his underwear down in one smooth motion, pausing just long enough to wriggle out of his socks as well. And he stood before her completely naked, watching her. She looked at him through heavy lidded eyes, her nipples puckered. He knew she was wet, and waiting for him.

He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, how enchanting her eyes were. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, again, that she had been kidnapped in the war. He wanted to tell her that he was going to protect her from now on, make her happy. He wanted to tell her he loved her. But all of a sudden the words crammed in his throat, as if they had come all at once and had gotten tangled, and he knew they could never be enough anyway. He felt like he would never be able to do justice to what he felt in his heart with mere words. So he joined her on the bed instead, and though he wanted so badly to bury his cock inside of her he willed himself to wait. He started at her mouth and he kissed her like he was dying of thirst, and she was an oasis. He moved down to capture her throat, and felt her pulse beating like a drum. He moved to place a delicate, feather light kiss at the hollow of her throat, and then moved to trap a nipple between his lips. She gasped in that light breathy way she had, which spurred him on. He suckled at it, and she made little mewling noises that he had never imagined could come out of her mouth. Wanting more, he switched his attention to the other breast with the same result. She was playing with herself now, and he was surprised that she was in tune with her body, he admitted to himself that he really shouldn't have been. Of course a girl like Luna knew what she liked - she had no reservations, she wouldn't see why she should have to feel shame about her body like other women did, or feel like she shouldn't experiment. But the sight of Luna pleasuring herself underneath of him was the single most erotic thing he had ever experienced. He took his time moving down her torso, leaving kisses as he went, blowing a raspberry on her belly as the impulse struck him. She laughed, the sound low with her own desire, and he thought it might be the most appealing thing he'd ever heard.

His lips replaced her hands, and he rushed her to dizzying new heights of pleasure. His tongue swirled around her centre, and slipped inside of her. She tasted incredible to him and he knew at that moment that he could do this every day of his life and never get enough. But her readiness from her first orgasm coupled with her further ministrations meant that Draco need only spend a few moments worshipping her with his tongue before she was crying out again. He emerged to see a quaking Luna, her silver eyes half closed wantonly.

"Please," was all she said, and Draco accepted the invitation eagerly, sliding his now painfully erect cock inside of her. He lost control of himself with the sensation of her, sliding himself in and out with reckless abandon. He let himself lose the composure that he had been struggling to hold onto since she had invited him in and took her swiftly for himself. When he felt close to the end, he reached desperately between them only to find her hand already there, working furiously on herself. He figured she knew what he needed better than him at the moment and left her to it, instead closing his mouth over one of her nipples again. He pulled gently with his teeth and she exploded under him, dragging him with her this time into ecstasy.

The world had stopped turning. It must have. There was no noise from outside, no obligations, no one else in the world but Draco Malfoy and Luna Lovegood. In the shared aftershock of their lovemaking Draco had collapsed on top of her and almost drifted asleep before Luna nudged him to move. He reluctantly rolled onto his back and was rewarded with Luna's head on his chest. Her blonde locks fell over her naked back, and Draco gave into the urge to stroke a finger own the length of her, continuing to do so when she gave what could only be described as a purr at his touches.

"How are you?" he whispered, even though he knew they were alone in the house.

"Mmmm," Luna responded, shifting to look at him. She looked like the cat that had caught the canary. "I feel well sexed. And very... alive."

"You're not tired yet?" Draco teased. "And after I gave you, what was it, three orgasms?"

Luna rolled on top of him, straddling his hips. She leaned down and kissed him in a way that made him forget his own name for a moment, then pulled back and sat up. "Let's see what happens after four," she told him, reaching back to find his member stiff once more at her embrace, and the view. She slipped him inside of her easily, then began bouncing up and down on him.

He groaned at the sensation, grasping her hips and thrusting up into her. She tried a few different angles to see how his cock felt inside of her, finally deciding that leaning slightly back felt the best. Taking advantage of her position, Draco kept one hand on her hip and moved the other to her clit once more. Her moan of sensual gratification was only doubled when he slid his other hand up to play with her breast. She left one arm behind her for support, but used the other to mirror his actions with her other breast. It didn't take long before Luna was again squeezing herself around his cock, shuddering with delight. While she experienced her own orgasm, Draco grabbed her once more at the hips and thrust into her until he was climaxing again.

Finally spent, Luna rolled beside her lover again. She was immediately wrapped up in him and had the pleasure of being small spoon. She hadn't taken him for a man who cuddled, and was very happy to be mistaken. She snuggled up to him.

"Careful," he teased with a growl when her bottom wriggled against his member, his voice thick with sleep. She giggled, and threw the bedspread over them.


	9. Chapter 9

When Draco woke up Luna was gone. He found his socks, pants, and trousers and hauled them on, grabbing his dress shirt as an afterthought but leaving it unbuttoned over his pale chest. He looked briefly in the upstairs room and found a bath, a much larger empty bedroom that he guessed must have been the master, and a smaller spare room, but no Luna. He ducked his head back in her room, this time seeing the painted portraits of her friends on the wall. It made him vaguely uncomfortable that pictures of Longbottom, Potter, Weasley, and Hermione had been witness to what he'd done with Luna the night before, but he shrugged it off. Brandishing his wand he performed a few quick charms to clean the sheets and set the bed to rights again, then looked around the rest of the room. The pale blue carpet under his feet felt soft, and the matching walls were calming. The furniture was made from cheery pine wood stained a blonde colour, and held the various flotsam and jetsam of a girl who had lived in the room her whole life.

A desk held parchment, quills, and ink. It also had a few framed photos, one of her hugging a taller woman who could have been her older doppelgänger that Draco realized must be her mum, and one of her in lion hat that Colin Creevey had clearly taken. There was also one of their club, Dumbledore's Army. The bookshelf next to the desk housed all of the schoolbooks she had bought over the years, as well as a collection of other interesting spell books that they definitely had not been assigned at Hogwarts. They were complex potions books, difficult spells and magics, and some Transfiguration books that had Draco shaking his head. He didn't know many people that bothered with continuing their own magical education outside of the required spells and theories of school, but he supposed he shouldn't be surprised by Luna being one of them. A crystal ball on the back corner of the desk caught Draco's eye, but he didn't touch it. He hadn't studied Divination as his father had disapproved of the subject. And to be fair it was quite useless unless you had the Sight anyway, so there had been no complaints from him. He wondered how often Luna had visions and prophecies, and tore himself away to examine more of Luna's life.

He followed a door into a full closet, and followed that to another door which opened to a small bathroom. There was an old fashioned claw foot tub, a toilet, a sink, and not much else. The tiles were coloured to display a large L in the middle of the floor, and there were little pots of makeup on the edge of the sink by the taps. Above the sink hung a large oval mirror with an ornate gold frame. He caught sight of himself now for the first time since dressing for the gala and he hardly recognized himself. His hair was ruffled from sex and sleep, and he needed a shave. He rubbed at the stubble on his chin absentmindedly. His shirt was wrinkled and he look so casual that he could hardly believe his own reflection. But then again he felt carefree and relaxed, so maybe that had something to do with it. In fact, he hadn't been stressed at all in much longer than he'd care to admit. He thought about the pack of owls that would probably be waiting for him when he got home with letters to answer and work to sift through, but he just couldn't bring himself to care. Right now, all he cared about was Luna. He took quick advantage of the loo, then moved on with his search for her.

He went down a winding staircase that he had very fond memories of climbing with Luna attached to his front. He saw a sitting room showing signs of recent work, a quill laying atop an article written in parchment with red ink crossing out a sentence here, fixing a spelling error there, a note in the margins. The printing press in the corner was quiet, though. He moved on through the house and saw a small but homy kitchen sporting an immaculate red brick fireplace and a rather compact but clearly well used potions brewing station in the corner. A small fire was crackling in the hearth, and it warmed him through. He went out through the kitchen door to find a creaky yet solid back porch with pots of plants of which Draco recognized about half of their inhabitants. The view was of rolling hills, and a pond off to the distance that he imagined was shared with the Weasley's property line, though he couldn't see their house. Sitting on the wood platform, her feet on the top stair of the staircase leading down to a dirt trail, was Luna. She was wrapped in a white robe that billowed slightly in the wind. He could tell that she wore nothing under it, and he felt himself stir with the idea. She held a steaming mug of tea in her hands and looked very contemplative. Her wand was tucked behind her ear, and her hair was down as usual, swaying with the wind. When he reached his hand down and stroked her hair in greeting she jumped, narrowly avoiding spilling her hot tea.

"You scared me," she said after she had realized who it was, putting a hand dramatically on her heart.

He tried not to laugh, but failed. "I didn't mean to," he offered by way of apology. "What were you thinking about, anyway? You were in another world."

"I was thinking about my parents."

"Oh. Do you want to talk about it?"

"I was just thinking about how they're both gone, and I have this house that will always be home because I've never lived anywhere else. But it's not home, not really. There's too much sadness here now. It may be time for change."

"You could always move."

"I suppose. I could keep The Rookery as the offices of The Quibbler. Then I could come back every day, I guess, to work."

"Do you like that idea?"

"I'd have to redecorate. But it might be nice, having office space. We've always run the printing out of the sitting room around our tea. We could turn The Quibbler into a respectable periodical."

That surprised Draco - not that The Quibbler wasn't necessarily a respectable magazine, but that she recognized this fact. "What do you mean?" he asked her, choosing to err on the side of letting herself explain rather than putting a foot in his mouth.

"Well, many people who don't subscribe to The Quibbler seem to regard it as - what's the word - claptrap?" Luna sipped from her mug and watched the sky grow pinker and pinker with the morning sun. "But the thing is, the best run of The Quibbler that ever existed was when Harry Potter gave us his interview in my fourth year. We had to reprint and everything. My dream for The Quibbler is to have every issue sell like that. It's not just a silly magazine to me, it's something I grew up doing. I love it."

"Well, now is a good time to make changes," Draco affirmed. "The Quibbler was a huge supporter of Potter - then when you were taken, your father changed that to try to get you back. Now that the war is over you could move from fluff pieces and do some hard hitting journalism, make a new name for The Quibbler. It can reflect what you really think everyone should know about."

"I just don't want to lose the crumple horned snorkacks," Luna admitted, "But I want it to be taken seriously. Maybe I'll shift focus to more fact based stories, and do my private research on the side. If I prove existence, I'll be breaking the story."

"So what do you really care about writing about that you think will sell papers?"

"The war, obviously," Luna said. "I know the Ministry is trying to get back to good times, and pretend everything's fine again now that Voldemort is gone for good. But wizarding families went through a lot, and not just when they lost loved ones. I could write about injustices in the ministry, how easily it was corrupted, what the average wizarding family deals with in the fallout. Did you know that Muggles have something they call therapists? Hermione told me about them. They just talk about what bothers them, and then they work through the issues together. In our world, we use dreamless draughts and that's about it."

Draco frowned. "Dreamless draughts are addictive if taken too often."

"I know - but that's the number one prescription to deal with the aftermath of the war. And that doesn't even start to touch the treatment of magical beings that aren't witches and wizards, or the dwindling magical population, or the overhaul of the ministry that is seriously needed."

"Then be the person that stands up and says these things, Luna. Because honestly, everything around Potter's article was rubbish, and that's the only issue I've ever read." He caught her frown into her tea, and sat next to her. "Listen, you've got good ideas, and I know you're brilliant. And I can see why you wouldn't want to overhaul right now."

"It just seems like I'm diminishing daddy's legacy by changing everything about it."

"But why wouldn't he want you to write about what you're passionate about? Better this than give it up altogether, or write about things you don't care about or believe in. You've got a voice, and a chance to tell everyone what you think. You could publish stories about things that matter to people."

She leaned left and found his shoulder with her head. He tilted his head right to be close to her.

"You're right," she conceded with a sigh, "I think it's just hard to let go, no matter what's right. But maybe I have to just rip the bandaid off and do it all at once. Find a new home, and renovate this place right away."

"You could stay with me."

This surprised her, and she jerked her head up and turned to face him. He blushed at her reaction. She needn't look so horrified by the idea!

"Isn't that a little... fast?"

"Well I'm not making you," he said, a steely edge to his voice. "You don't have to. I just thought - and you're so - oh Merlin." He stood up then, thoroughly embarrassed, and dashed through the door and back upstairs to her bedroom, buttoning his shirt as he went. He just wanted to grab his suit jacket and tie and get out of there, now.

He reached for his jacket, but it flew past him to the doorway. He turned around to find Luna standing there with her wand out, catching the article of clothing in one hand. "Don't go," she murmured, and Draco remembered the last time she said those words. His fingers twitched at his sides, itching to reach out for her.

"I've made a fool of myself," he said quietly, crossing the room to her. Just to get my jacket, he told himself.

"You haven't," she said, taking one step forward and closing the distance between them. She was so close now, but they didn't touch. The air between them seemed heavy with anticipation. Had either of them spent time in the Muggle world, they might have called it electric. "I was just caught off guard. You're so unlike what I thought you'd be. And I never thought I'd find anyone who made me feel like this."

"What did you think I'd be?"

"Colder. More aloof. Certainly not looking to attach yourself to me, this early anyway."

"And what do I make you feel?" His voice was hoarse, and he could feel his own pulse quite clearly. She licked her lips nervously, and he didn't miss it. His eyes were suddenly having a very hard time leaving her pouty pink lips.

"Safe," she admitted in a voice barely above a whisper. "You make me feel safe. You make my skin tingle when you touch it. You make my heart feel full when you look at me. You set my soul on fire. You make me feel love. I - I love you Draco."

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, but he did not touch her yet. He looked down into her eyes, and she looked so sincere, so vulnerable. "Then be with me," he told her. "Move in with me. Be with me all the time. I'll keep you safe."

"Yes."

She barely said it and he had swooped down on her, kissing her, touching her, pulling at her robe. She grasped at his trousers and hauled them down, then fell on top of him as he hit the bed. It was only after as they lay together, their limbs entwined, that Draco murmured to Luna.

"I love you, too."

And he knew that they would be together then not for a few months, or a few years, but a lifetime. Because he couldn't see how he could ever go back now to the life that was before Luna - it had been so short a time, but the need for her was hot within him. He could live without her, Draco figured, but what kind of life would it be? A lonely, brooding man alone in a manor house, wishing he had her? A half life at best. He'd rather not waste time with her.

"I know," she said in response, and reached up to kiss his cheek. She snuggled into him with a sigh, and they both went back to sleep.

DLDLDLDLDLDLDLDLDLDLDLDLDLDLDLDL

They moved her in the next day. Draco had left and saw to clearing his schedule and informing the house elves of their new mistress. He wondered if he should redecorate to give her a more Luna-esque space, then decided that the woman in question should make any changes. It might make her feel more welcome and at home if she put her own touches on the place. When he came back to collect Luna he was shocked at how empty the place was. But then, most printing presses didn't have twenty year old couches and chairs surrounding them.

The sitting room was now much more bare, though the printing press hadn't been moved. Gone were the old tables and chairs, replaced with a more industrious work table in the back. The kitchen had been gutted as well. She had kept the small potions station just in case, but all of the personal affectations in the space were gone. There was a plain table with four chairs in the space, and the glass fronted cupboards showed all of her old dishes still. She explained that she thought he probably had enough dishes for the two of them, and this was now going to be the kitchen/break room. She planned on hiring actual staff.

What had been her parents bedroom, the largest empty room upstairs, was now an office with three desks pushed against the back wall, and one on each side. The walls above each desk were lined with cork board and had a few pins in them for future research. Comfortable swivel chairs sat at each work station. The second previously empty room now served as a sort of office for meeting clients privately. The whole room was themed in sapphire blue and white, like a grown up version of her old bedroom. There was a couch was a deep jewel toned blue with two gray accent chairs facing it. There was a white glass topped coffee table between them, and the rug underneath it was white with blue and silver swirls on it. There were blue photo frames that stood out on the stark white walls and held early and clearly favourite issues of The Quibbler for display.

Her old bedroom was truly a masterpiece. She had removed the bedroom furniture and painted over the walls with a dark pink that was quite feminine but also very bold. There was a large antique desk in the middle of the room, with a proper wing chair instead of a desk chair upholstered in black. There were more framed issues of the magazine on the wall in black frames, and a large one of her and her parents. The gold plate underneath that portrait read Xenophilious, Pandora, and Luna Lovegood - Founders of The Quibbler. There were a few armchairs here as well with a black couch that held pink cushions to match the walls, and Luna explained that they would hold staff meetings in her office - once she had staff, that was - so she had wanted several comfortable seats available. She showed him through what was once her walk through closet that was now a filing system with shelving from floor to ceiling. The back issues were all stored on one side for reference, while the research was all organized on another side. She tried to explain the system, but Draco scratched his head and shrugged at her apologetically. It was complicated because research overlapped, and there was a card system like in the library. He didn't really understand it, but she seemed happy.

She had put an advertisement in The Quibbler, of course, for new talent, but she had also placed one in The Daily Prophet just to make sure she was attracting those who might not normally read her magazine but could share her vision. She was also sending requests for various guest writers to do articles as one offs, which she would use as a submission pool for regular column offers. Ginny Weasley had shown considerable interest in contributing, and was going to write articles from Hogwarts and owl them to Luna. She had suggested getting sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts, and possibly other wizarding schools, to do weekly pieces and keep in touch with the younger generation. It would also look favourable on a resume if that student pursued journalism to have a portfolio of paid work to show.

It seemed like a smart setup, and Draco was rather impressed. Until she asked him to write a piece for The Quibbler.

"I'm sorry, what? No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not a writer. And I'm a very private person. What would you want me to write about, anyway? I'm a businessman, I do boring things all day."

"But you're in the unique position of being a Pureblood who was essentially forced into Lord Voldemort's service. Maybe you started out brash and proud, but you never wanted it when you saw what was really involved. Beyond being a rebel, the evil didn't really appeal to you."

"But why would I talk about that with the whole bloody wizarding world?"

"Because there are unique benefits to you doing so."

"Such as?"

"Your account of the war could make a great addition to the mosaic - standing on its own carrying whatever message you might want to convey, in the larger story of what the war has done to all families. Including yours. There won't be very many Pureblood perspectives from families who are known to have been on the other side."

Draco thought of everyone reading what he had encountered before, during, and after the year - and grimaced. "I can at least promise you I'll think about it," he told her. She knew that he was placating her, but didn't really seem to care in that moment. She dropped the subject and showed him what she had done to redecorate the nearby loo.

They ended the tour back in the former sitting room, now dubbed the print room, where Luna suggested they get a move on to Malfoy Manor. Draco looked around the room in confusion.

"Er, Luna?"

"Yes?"

"What about all of your things?"

"Oh! I borrowed the beaded bag from Hermione."

"And what exactly is the beaded bag?"

Luna held up a small beaded purse.

"Well, it's certainly a beaded bag. But where are your other things?"

Luna laughed and reached in, pulling out a pillow that shouldn't have fit in the bag, then stuffed it back in. "They're all right here."

Draco shook his head in bewilderment. "You women will never cease to amaze me," he admitted. The undetectable extension charm was hard enough, but the bag was clearly weightless as well. Go figure women would make a handbag that could fit literally everything in it.

"I want to apparate there myself," Luna advised. "I've only floo'd to your place once, so I want to make sure I can. I haven't been doing it long and I should practice."

"Well don't splinch yourself," he drawled. "I want a whole Luna Lovegood, not a hair left behind." He had wanted to apparate as much as possible when he had passed his test as well - he was just worried that she hadn't been there enough to do it successfully. Though she was terribly intelligent, her dreamy demeanour often made him worry for her.

"I'll be fine," she assured. "You've set the wards to let me in?"

"Yes, dear."

"Then I'll see you at home!" And with that, she was gone.

"See you at home," he murmured to himself, then followed her.

DLDLDLDLDLDLDLDLDLDLDLDLDLDLDLDL

Their first order of business, once Luna unpacked, was to start writing letters and sending owls. They had agreed that they would have a housewarming party in honour of Luna moving in. While he already owned more than enough furniture and decorations to fill the manor, the idea was to allow their friends to get them things that were less Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy and more Draco and Luna. Since Draco had more than enough gold to redecorate the manor a hundred times over, it was more of an excuse to have a party and announce to their friends that they had moved in together.

Luna had taken care of most of the decorating for the party and had asked Gramble to make certain foods - Draco had bought cases of butterbeer and a few bottles of firewhiskey for the occasion. There was a huge phonograph set up with all the latest hits from bands like The Weird Sisters, and there was going to be a friendly Quidditch match in the front garden. In the spirit of living together and sharing a life, Draco had insisted that they both invite their own friends, with no guest list purging for he sake of the other. And this was how it came to be that all of the Weasley children, Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, and several other prior students from Hogwarts came to be invited at Malfoy Manor. They had even scheduled it for the Easter break so that students finishing their years could also attend. There would also be a healthy mix of Slytherins who had RSVP'd yes, though some he knew were coming out of curiosity as there had not been an event hosted at Malfoy Manor since before the war. He imagined the invitation itself had some people curious as well.

 _Your company is requested at Malfoy Manor on Friday April 9, 1999 for a housewarming party in Luna Lovegood's honour, celebrating her recent change of address._

 _Your presence is presents enough. However if you insist on a housewarming gift, please be advised that Luna's favourite colours are blue, yellow, and orange._

 _Please feel free to bring a guest._

 _RSVP by Friday, April 2, 1999._

 _Hope to see you there,_

 _Draco Malfoy and Luna Lovegood_

He figured not many of his old dorm mates - besides Blaise, who had been at the dinner party where he had kissed Luna for the first time - would be able to believe it without seeing it for themselves. It was so un-Draco like that even Draco was a little weirded out by how far he'd veered off of who he had once been. He figured that just went to show him how much he had needed to change. To his great surprise every single invited guest owled back to indicate they would attend - even Harry and Ron. He figured it had something to do with how much Luna was loved or they just had to see it for themselves, but when the RSVP's poured in Draco considered opening up the ballroom for the occasion.

"Don't," Luna implored. "Let's have a special occasion anther time. Housewarming parties are supposed to be casual, and fun. We'll all spread out over a few rooms, and then there's the lawns..."

He agreed, though it made him uncomfortable to be so informal. But he had signed onto the housewarming idea, so he was determined to do it her way. "Alright," he conceded, "But I really should order some more butterbeer."

Now there was less than an hour to go before guests were due to arrive, and Draco was clearly nervous. He was in a pair of dove gray casual slacks because Luna's persuasive powers had not lent as far as jeans, with a deep red v-necked sweater the colour of wine that was set off by the crisp white collar of the dress shirt he wore underneath. When Luna's clicking heels announced her presence Draco turned to find her walking into the room looking very lady-of-the-manor in a gold party dress that had a black lace overlay. The dress had a modest square neckline, but there was enough flirt in the skirt of the garment to keep it from being matronly. She wore black kitten heels and had over large pearl earrings at her earlobes to complete the ensemble, and had Draco tripping over himself to tell her how good she looked.

"Thank you, Draco. You look very dashing yourself," she offered, but seemed a little distracted. More so than usual, he figured.

"Ah, can I get you a drink?"

"A glass of white wine, please."

When he returned with her beverage the first guests, Padma and Parvati Patil, were already in the foyer, and the fireplace was flaring up again. He figured he'd ask her what was wrong later, when the guests were gone. He was nervous that perhaps she was unhappy in the manor, or with him in general. But she looked at him with a smile that hit his heart, and he pushed it aside. She wanted him now, so she would have him. He stepped forward to greet the guests, putting one arm around Luna while he shook the first few hands.

The guests poured in, and the music started up. The drinks were passed around and soon everyone was having a great time. Hermione complimented Luna on her decorations. Blue and green streamers twisted together and decorated the walls and ceiling, balloons bunched together were tied to the tables and chairs. Some blue balloons were wrapped with green taffeta, and vice versa. All the balloons had yellow ribbons swirling from the balloons. Peacock feathers and pearls decorated the tables, and there were floating tea lights in the air.

"It's like Hogwarts, but fancier," Hermione mused. "And in my wedding colours!"

Luna laughed. "That was the idea - fancy Hogwarts, not your wedding. The colours are Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Two houses coming together in one. It might be a little corny."

"I like it," Hermione assured. "It looks great and it has some meaning."

"Everyone's been saying the same thing tonight. They can't believe how fast this happened. I don't know what to say."

"When you know, you know," Hermione said with a shrug. She had been surprised too, but when she thought about it the quick pairing made sense. Draco was softer than he had been before the war, and Luna was harder - she had seen some things. They were both independent people, and they were both very smart. She had a whimsy that he had been so desperately lacking, and he had the stability that Luna needed. They made quite a formidable pair, and she imagined their children would get the best parts of them. Warm, but shrewd. Adventurous, but grounded. Intelligence mixed with ambition and wiles, not to mention business sense. Oh yes, she could easily see any child of theirs ruling the business world single handedly.

When the fire lit up to announce another guest, Draco turned to find Harry Potter stepping out of his Floo. He was followed closely by Ron Weasley, and the two stood near the fireplace awkwardly for a moment. Knowing how desperately Luna had wanted them to feel at home, especially Potter, much to Draco's chagrin, he headed towards them immediately. He was determined to make sure that they stayed and enjoyed themselves, because Draco refused to be the reason that Luna's friends didn't visit her. And considering they had both made her friend wall mural in her old bedroom, old rivalries and insults didn't seem to matter much. Especially when he compared them against how much it would mean to her if they were able to overcome it all.

He wasn't sure it would work - after all, he had been an annoyance to Potter his whole school career, and had let the Death Eaters in the school their sixth year. He knew it wasn't an easy bridge to build. But he was here, wasn't he?

"Potter - Weasley - I'm glad you guys could make it. I know Luna was looking forward to seeing you."

The two looked a little lost, like they couldn't believe they were actually there. Draco suddenly had a great suspicion that Hermione had rather insisted they show up. Harry cleared his throat a little uncomfortably and shifted a box under his arm to shake Draco's offered hand in greeting.

"Ah, thank you. Where is Luna, anyway?"

Draco scanned the crowd very quickly. "Last I saw she was chatting with Hermione somewhere. I'm sure she'll turn up."

"Oh. Okay then."

"Is Ginny stopping by? We got her RSVP, but we haven't seen her."

"Um, yeah. She just promised Mrs. Weasley that she'd do a few things before she left The Burrow." Because he was a bit put off at the use of 'we' regarding his childhood enemy and Luna, the sweetest girl he had ever met, he exchanged a glance with Ron, who was clueless.

"I know Ginny grew up very close with Luna, but since she went back to Hogwarts to finish we haven't had the chance to have her over or anything. I'm hoping that she doesn't get too hard of a time for moving in with me. From what I can see you Weasley's are a bit protective."

"Well, yeah, I've been meaning to ask you about that," Ron admitted, a bit put out. "You've never associated with the likes of her or our family before. And now all of a sudden you're at dinner parties and social events with a muggle born and her blood trailer fiancé. What gives?"

Draco turned to face Ron fully. He guessed his suspicions must be confirmed now - he could imagine the look on Ron's face when Hermione had told him that they were acquainted, and getting rather close through Luna. "You don't believe people can change?" He glanced at Potter, who's expression remained purposefully blank, then back to Weasley. "You're the one using the old language that I would once use to insult you, not me. You never knew me in Hogwarts, not really. And you don't know what a short leap it was for me to change."

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but Harry shut him off with a look. "I trust Hermione. And I trust Fred, and George. I can't forget the past, but I can see you're not who you once were, for whatever that's worth." He allowed his free hand to run through his eternally messy black hair. "I guess my main concern is for Luna. She's special to us - to all of us. I guess I want to make sure she's happy."

"I can promise you that if you want her happy then we share a common goal. It's my number one priority. She's been through too much with her mum, and the bullying, and the war. I guess - have you ever seen her room? Back at her old place, before she renovated?" The two boys nodded. "She doesn't make murals out of her friends for no reason. You're clearly very important people to her, and I can tell by your concern that you want to protect her. She's a very good friend to you too. That's why I'm glad you're here tonight. Not because she put you on the guest list, but because I wanted a chance. I wanted to see if there was hope for a - a reconciliation of sorts. Bygones and all that. Because she needs you in her life, and it won't happen unless we trust each other. And it would be much easier for all of us if we were able to like each other."

Harry and Ron exchanged another look, and Draco waited, sweating it out a little on the inside while hopefully remaining cool on the outside. And then Harry shrugged, and extended the gift box he carried.

"Here," he said, passing it to Draco. "Happy housewarming. I'm okay with... reconciliation. But you should know that if Luna needed us, a whole army would show up to help her."

Draco nodded. "She has the galleon still," he admitted. "She carries it with her everywhere. I think it makes her feel good that if she had to, she could call you."

Harry softened at this. "Any day," he said. "I would show up any day to help her."

"I'm glad she has friends like you. And you, Ron. Hey, do you want a drink or something? Once Ginny shows up and says hi to everyone we can all start up a Quidditch game. We should have enough half decent players then, even if you won't have your Firebolt advantage, Potter."

Both boys perked up considerably at this, and followed him to drop their gifts off and then hunt down beverages. Along the way they ran into Luna and Hermione, which pleased everyone. He once called Hermione a mudblood, true, but she was quickly becoming a trusted friend. Her friendship towards Luna counted for a lot with him, and she had never failed to include him in get togethers. In fact, more often than not it was he who was invited to dinner and told to make sure he told Luna, since she saw him around first if he was in Britain as he held offices in Diagon Alley and Luna only came in once a week for her volunteer shift at the Foundation unless she was meeting him. He truly believed that if he hadn't gotten on with his girlfriend as well as he had, Hermione would have still invited him over.

Draco set Ron and Harry up with drinks and told them to help themselves, and moved on to greet more guests and socialize. He spotted Blaise and Angelina fiddling with the phonograph then dancing, and Neville chatting awkwardly with Hannah Abbott. Cho Chang, Roger Davies, and Ernie MacMillan were arguing over something jovially. Susan Bones was talking to, of all people, Astoria Greengrass. In fact, there were strange pairings all over the place, illogical groups of people. There were notably less Slytherins than anyone else at the Manor as Draco had very specifically not invited the fellow Death Eaters children. He simply knew them too well, having been amongst their ranks and then in league with their parents, and while he was grateful for the opportunity to get a second chance with those at his home right now he found the other Death Eaters children to be truly vile. But he did invite Pansy Parkinson, Daphne and Astoria Greengrass, Blaise Zabini, and a few other choice Slytherins. His house was in the minority, and he was glad there was less emphasis on house once you left school.

He caught Ginny coming out of the fireplace and waved her down. She joined him, carrying a gift for Luna. He put it with the others, then stared at the red headed woman.

"Um. What?"

"Well? Don't you want to tell me I'm awful? Or that you're going to hex if me Luna so much as yawns while she's with me? Or that you'll never trust me? Everyone seems to be very cautiously accepting our relationship, since it's Luna."

"Well, you clearly already know. Do you have red wine?"

"Yes. And yes. So there's no friend-of-Luna speech you need to give me?"

Ginny reached up and patted Draco's cheek mockingly. "Nope. Because I don't care about your school days. Luna trusts you, and she hasn't been wrong yet. And she may look sweet, but she knows more hexes than I do. Now, wine?"

He decided that he liked Ginny Weasley, very much.

The party raged on, the volume of the music getting a bit louder as the night went on. They picked team captains for Quidditch, Malfoy and Potter squaring off again. Only this time since they took turns picking, Draco ended up with Ginny, Adrian Pucey, and Katie Bell chasing, Fred and George beating (they refused to be picked separately), and Cormac McLaggen as Keeper. He played Seeker himself. Potter ended up playing Seeker, of course, Angelina, Alicia, and Dean Thomas played Chaser, Ritchie Coote and Jimmy Peakes reprised their Beater roles, and Ron played Keeper. It was a good, fast paced game. Potter caught the snitch and won the game for his team, as everyone figured he would, but Draco gave him a good run and his team played well. Everyone hit the ground feeling good about the game, even the losing team.

And when everyone went home, Luna leaned into him in the darkness of their bedroom. He had figured he would spend all night with her when in reality they were hosting so many people that he had hardly seen her at all. He felt more complete now, like her touch revived him. He held her in the dark, listening to her give a secret sigh in her sleep, and wondered how he could be so lucky. He wanted her to be with him every day, for the rest of his life. He wanted her to be his in every sense of the way. Was it too soon to propose marriage? He didn't even know anymore. Could it be too soon when it felt so right? He drifted off to sleep with thoughts of Luna in white dresses.


	10. Chapter 10

Ron hadn't expected to have a good time at Draco and Luna's housewarming if he was completely honest, He went out of obligation - a former DA member, having seen himself on the friend mural on her bedroom wall, a very peripheral relationship on his part if he was honest, But he played Quidditch, the drinks were flowing, the company was mixed if not interesting. He'd already discussed relative wizarding issues with Hannah Abbott, Astoria Greengreass, and Cormac McLaggen, It was a bit surreal if he was to be honest. He'd spent his entire formative years learning that house lines meant everything, but now in the real world it was every man for himself. He'd seen Harry personally joking around with Blaise Zambini, and he felt a bit emboldened to branch out himself.

Not that he was entirely sure that this meant that he had to endear himself to Pansy Parkinson, yet this was where he found himself. Talking to her and pretending that she hadn't scared the piss out of him in school.

"You can't actually believe this passion project of Granger's is going to get anywhere?" Pansy was asking of the Remus Lupin foundation.

"Why not?" Ron asked flippantly. He probably wouldn't have been so favourably defending the Foundation if it wasn't a mortal enemy questioning it, but the moral high ground was irresistible. "She's helping real people in real need, without any judgement. It's admirable."

"Yes, so admirable," Pansy sneered. "Letting heathens loose on the general public."

Ron snorted. The lengths some people would go to. He might not be on the very best of terms with Hermione but even he knew that the cause was worthwhile. Harry himself had poured a thousand Galleons a year in a five year commitment, something he knew his best friend wouldn't have done without a guarantee of positive change. Had he any money himself he would have donated to the cause, but the first year training salary for an auror was pitiful. Had he not been staying rent free at Harry's he might have considered a different career. As it was his best friends generosity had been keeping him afloat.

"I'd hate to find myself as unfortunate as most in the werewolves position," he said simply. "And I think that given a little self reflection you would too."

Pansy sipped her drink contemplatively. Maybe she would, in that position. After all, hadn't Lavender Brown herself been bitten by Greyback? And she was the gossip queen of the Gryffindor house, the popular girl - and now she had to take a potion once a month for standing up for what she believed in one awful May evening. But she couldn't be so publicly forgiving.

"I'm not sure," she said reluctantly. "Werewolves could hurt other people. I'm just saying she could have started with Goblins or Merfolk and we might not be having the same debate." It was nice though, debating with someone who was real and passionate, who didn't feel the need to degrade her at the earliest opportunity for her house. Somehow Ron Weasley seemed beyond Gryffindor versus Slytherin. He seemed above it all. It was infuriating and yet endearing.

"But they're not so different than you or I. Take Lavender. One year I was dating her - the next she was a werewolf. I can't abandon her based on that alone. Merlin I - so many firsts - it would be inhumane." He blushed at this, a bit weary to share so much with a former enemy. "You know what I mean though?" He asked. "What if Draco had suddenly — ? Anyways, I can't not support Hermione. Besides all that, she's bloody brilliant. She might actually make a difference."

"High praise," Hermione said from behind him. "Especially from the boy who kept calling my first organization _Spew_." He jumped a little and his ears turned red.

"Mione," he greeted simply. He hadn't been expecting her to be right behind him, hadn't been prepared to talk to her directly. He knew she'd be there of course, but he figured he could do as he had since she'd started seeing Fred - skirt around the edges, be present enough to be in her life but not really go too much deeper. She saw Harry once a week, and he talked to her awkwardly, but that was about it. His brother was so in her life that he was her life. It was just hard.

 _Then maybe you should have recognized what you had when you had it_ , he told himself.

Well, it was best not to dwell there, wasn't it?

Thankfully she was called away just then, and Ron breathed a little sigh of relief.

"Trouble in paradise?"

Bloody hell. He'd completely forgotten about Pansy. "Er, no?"

"I'm just asking because that seemed ridiculously awkward. Even for you, Weasley."

"We're friends. Friends who have had differences on house elves. But she's still my friend."

"It doesn't really look like it."

"She is!" Ron said indignantly.

"Mhmm. Cold, distant conversation. I'm more friendly with you than she is right now."

"She's going to be my sister in law. She was my best friend all through school."

"Was."

"She's still my friend."

Pansy wanted to point out that he had classified her as his sister in law before his friend, but he clearly either wasn't receptive or already knew and didn't want to own up to it. Instead she just arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and moved on.

"Anyways, it's an uncontrollable disease if you miss your medication for even one night, and Lupin proved that. I'm not willing to put myself at risk."

"Yeah, because you have so much to lose," Ron scoffed meanly, and he could see the second Pansy registered his words and hardened towards him.

"Well," she said, her eyes piercing through him. "I guess I just figured out why you and Granger aren't friendly any more." She started to walk past him, leaving a trail of icy air behind her. The nerve! It wasn't bad enough that her single action of self preservation during the most high pressure and bleak time of the war had cost her friends and societal position, but no, she also had to endure scandal from the lips of the likes of Ronald Weasley.

"Pansy." But she was already gone. He groaned. "Pansy, wait!" He turned and reached for her arm to stop her. When she stopped and turned around expectantly, Ron realized that he hadn't exactly expected her to stop, and offered a rather lame, "Er, sorry about that."

Pansy huffed, unable to believe she'd stopped for him. Then she felt a hand grab for her a second time. "What?" She asked as high and haughty as she possibly could. Her patience was running thin with him.

"I didn't mean that. You were right, there's something off between me and Hermione, and I took it out on you. I'm not... I'm not always very nice. I'm sorry." The statement surprised both of them. Ron hadn't really thought of himself as a mean guy before, but he was realizing a lot about himself after the war.

For Pansy, she had expected him to just disappear as most men did after her glance, so the act of him trying to make good over his blunder carried a bit more cache than it might have with her previously. "That's alright," she said cautiously, "I'm not always very nice either, and I make no apologies for it." But she smiled at him then, slyly, and Ron dropped a little under her spell.

"D'you fancy another beverage?" he asked, offering his arm. And to both of their great surprise, she took it.

"Why not," she said, a bit wide eyed at her own freedom of spirit. She decided to blame the drink she'd already had. "I could use another glass of red wine."

They got some looks, Ron had to admit, especially when he did something like lean forward and murmur in her ear. "I feel rather scandalous, consorting with the likes of you." But he said it with a flirt in his voice, and Pansy blushed.

"I should think that if my parents could see me now they would indeed find this the height of scandal. Consorting, as you put it, with Ronald Billius Weasley."

He gave her a sidelong glance. "How'd you know my middle name?" Ron asked shrewdly.

"One knows these things, raised as I was."

"And how's that?"

"To know all pureblood families in grand detail. I also happen to know your entire family's birth dates, lineage, and the rest of their middle names too."

"And here I thought I was special."

Well now. She hadn't realized how she'd wanted an opportunity like this until it presented itself. She lowered her head a spot and looked at him through his lashes. "Maybe I... maybe I do think you're special." She took another sip of wine for modesty's sake, feeling a bit more drunk than her imbibing could really be blamed for. "Or rather, maybe I would like the opportunity to find the special things about you."

Now it was Ron's turn to blush, and Pansy felt much like a cat that swallowed the canary. Until an uncertain shadow found her companions face.

"Well," he said bashfully, "Maybe there isn't much special there to find." And he managed to fade away then, taking an opportunity to turn and talk to Seamus when he passed by to rib him about a Quidditch bet.

Pansy slipped off then, feeling a bit foolish. She'd reached her hand out, not an easy task for her, only to be slapped back. Gently, but still, and it stung more than it ought to have. She made her excuses then to Draco and Luna, ever the gracious guest, and took the Floo home. She threw the powder down and called out her destination, the flames jumping and engulfing her. And at the ruckus she saw Ron turn around to see who was in the fire. And he saw the too sad face of Pansy Parkinson, her party mask already slipping away a half second before she spun and disappeared.

Ron and Harry left together. Ron didn't think it was proper to leave without him, suddenly self conscious and not wanting to seem rude. But Harry was having a good time, laughing about with Draco, having deep conversations with Luna. Flirting with his sister, of course. And being Harry Potter he had dozens of people vying for his attention at all times which was nothing new.

Not Pansy, he thought, the idea coming to him without will. She'd had eyes only for him. And Merlin, the eyes on her. Deep, honey brown and full of stars.

"You're quiet," Harry noted as they shared a nightcap by the fire Kreacher had lit on their return. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," Ron said, because nothing was wrong really. But he didn't feel like sharing, didn't want to see the look on his best friends face when he admitted his unlikely flirtation with Pansy Parkinson, who'd offered to give him up as sacrifice. "I'm just a bit tired. I think I've either had too much to drink or not enough. Either way I think I'm headed up." They bid each other goodnight and Ron escaped upstairs. He spent a long night thinking about her lovely long lashes and the unsettled feeling he got in his chest that only seemed to grow the longer he considered her.

Pansy took off her shoes straight out of the Floo, leaving them by the fire and then closing it up for the evening. She caught her own reflection when she passed by one of the inherited antique mirrors in the sitting room. A mistake — she looked awfully tired, and it didn't cheer her spirits any. She was quite awake, buzzing really, but her heart felt like it was weighing her down. She closed the door behind her when she found her bedroom, an awfully long walk from the main fireplace, even though no one was in the house but her. Sometimes she entertained guests, distant relations usually from outside the country, but often times it was her alone in the manor house.

Both parents in Azkaban, fewer friends than she'd care to admit. She wasn't sure who to call if she needed anything. Draco, probably. Maybe Blaise. But then she'd been a bit surprised to receive her housewarming invitation. And judging from the first looks on several faces at the event she'd surprised a great many people by accepting and showing up. She wasn't going to, was fully prepared the chuck the invitation in the fire, but for the additional note enclosed.

 _Pansy,_

 _I'm not sure how welcome this invitation will be, but I've got an idea of how I might feel if our situations were reversed, so I feel I ought to explain. I've found myself rather unexpectedly in the company of Luna's friends. In fact, I was rather unexpectedly in their company when I was reacquainted with her. I've felt a relief of the burden of my past that I can't begin to describe to you, though I'd very much like you to feel the same in your life. Our relationship, along with our old way of life, is long over, but my fondness for you is not. You tried to support me at an impossible time and I consider you my oldest friend. Please do make an attempt to appear at the party so that the others in our lives might get to know the Pansy that I've always favoured._

 _Best,_

 _Draco._

It hadn't been an easy decision to step out of the house and into public again. It wasn't exactly high society, a casual housewarming with plenty of drink and Quidditch and all, but it was still a party with other people, people whom she'd been avoiding since the fall of the Dark Lord. Since her parents were sent away. She'd been a shut-in, leaving only when strictly necessary. She hadn't taken the occasion to put herself together in quite some time. She'd attended an event shortly after the world finally started to get back to normal and the experience had soured her. No one had said anything outright to her of course. In her circles it would have been unspeakably rude. But gossip was somewhat of a sport, and she had been quite aware of the ladies whispering behind fans and stealing furtive glances at her. It wasn't quite a fall from grace, as she wasn't sure she'd ever really had a solid standing socially outside of her parents shadow. But she'd at least had a load of money and Draco Malfoy's association to keep others bowing their heads respectfully her way. Then all she had was the money, which as it turned out wasn't quite enough to keep her above the public shame of having parents in Azkaban. Worse, having parents in Azkaban who kept strong in their beliefs and publicly stated their support for the Dark Lord at their trials.

Pureblood above everything. Even their own daughter. They were never getting out now, not after all they'd admitted to. Pansy had always been under the impression that they'd been peripheral supporters, staunch in their beliefs but only taken action when required. But the crimes they'd committed, that they'd confessed to — it hurt knowing that the people who had raised her could be so cruel. So inhuman. No one had ever accused Pansy of being gentle of spirit, but she'd been horrified. She'd begged them to recant, to take it all back, but they'd refused. Besides being true, they explained, the last time the Dark Lord had gone out of power those who had abandoned him were not welcomed warmly when he returned. And since he'd done so once they had every reason to believe he'd do so again, despite his demise being witnessed by hundreds of people. It all seemed very final to Pansy so far as she had heard, though she hadn't been there herself. She hadn't been far, but she hadn't been there. Hiding out in Hogsmeade, waiting for word from her parents.

Her cowardice haunted her.

The next morning, bleary eyed from yet another night of fitful rest, Pansy sat at the antique writing desk in her sitting room with a cup of hot tea that contained a generous drop of whiskey in it. She hadn't had occasion to use it in a while, not keeping correspondence with many people and not getting near as many invitations to events as she'd expected to have at this stage in her life, post Hogwarts. She contemplated the blank page before her before rubbing her hands over her face and setting her mind to writing.

 _Draco and Luna,_

 _Thank you so much for the invitation to your housewarming party. I had a very nice evening and it was lovely to tour the home, which has refreshed itself in style since I last visited._

 _I am writing to ask if I might return the favour by having you both to dinner. I am arranging a small dinner party for no reason other than to have one, as I found yesterday's events to be a welcome change of pace from the quieter life I've been living. It reminded me how much I miss entertaining._

 _I hope to see you Saturday next at six o'clock for cocktails followed by dinner. Please do let me know if you can come, and if there are any foods I ought to steer clear of. I'm afraid I don't know Luna's taste as well as I'd like to._

 _Cordially,_

 _Pansy Parkinson_

She wrote a formal invitation to Blaise plus a guest, aware that he was dating some former Gryffindor or another though he wasn't sure which. This was information she would normally have filed away last night, but in her unrest she had brandied herself to bed and her memory of such details was fuzzy around the edges. Was it Alicia? Angelina? Katie? No, not Katie, she'd been with George. Blaise was such a natural flirt that she figured she ought to get a pass on not knowing how serious they were, so the plus one could be appropriate.

Gods, she needed to stop drinking. She added more whiskey to her cup.

She started a letter to Ron then, though she crumpled it and restarted it a few more times before she felt she had something passable to send to him.

 _Ron,_

 _It was nice to see you last night at Draco and Luna's. I still can't get over that match — it makes one feel that anything is possible, doesn't it? I've invited them to dinner next Saturday at six with a few others at my place, and I wondered if you'd like to come, being mutual friends and all. Please let me know if you are free to attend._

 _Kindest regards,_

 _Pansy Parkinson._

She sent the letters quickly before she had a chance to change her mind. She stood then, deliberately leaving the tea behind and heading outside to the dewy morning for a walk as she often did. Only more often than not she took her spiked tea with her, and she convinced herself that she needed more and more whiskey until she was sleeping at noon and spending the rest of her day in a haze. Usually the haze helped her through, but today she couldn't face the fog. Not with so much to think about.

Well. She needed less of a fog.

She walked through the misty gardens of the manor house, worn out beyond lack of sleep. The party had reminded her of things she'd always thought better forgotten — of times when she could have fun, when she could be surrounded by people without feeling anxious, of times when she could flirt with a man and think it might lead somewhere. And maybe that was the real reason Ron's subtle rejection had stung so much. Because she hadn't had a romance since Draco had left school, because she had been a ghost of her old self and flirting with him had made her feel like a shade of a full person again. And then he'd so quickly turned away from her and Pansy wasn't sure how to deal with that now, and she thought a little too much about the way he was reassuringly tall and the tips of his ears went red when he was embarrassed and, Merlin, why did that make her heart skip?

When she wandered back to her sitting room the tea was gone, spirited away by house elves, and a few letters sat on her desk. Quick replies — she wasn't sure if that was good or bad, but she'd only been out for a few hours. The first was from Blaise, who confirmed that he and Angelina could make it, which made her wince. Damn, it was Angelina. She remembered a rude comment she'd made in school about her hair and hoped the other girl didn't. Then a reply from Luna and Draco in an unfamiliar hand that had to be Luna Lovegood's also accepting. And then Ron's messy handwriting.

 _Pansy,_

 _I'm usually not free on the weekends due to my auror training, but Harry owes me a weekend off as I took one of his shifts so he could see Ginny last week at Hogsmeade. So I called in my favour and made myself available._

There were ink spots on the parchment then, as though he'd tapped his quill while trying to decide what to write.

 _I've been thinking about our conversation yesterday and how I might like to find the things that make you special too._

 _See you Saturday,_

 _Ron Weasley._

Pansy exhaled. So she hadn't been crazy after all — there was something there, something that he'd felt too. She ordered herself to walk away and not to respond to him, not trusting herself to do so without making a fool of herself. Better to wait for Saturday when she could see him in the safety of a small group, make sure she wasn't being too rash. She didn't do spontaneous well, usually ended up regretting it, and she had to take a measured approach here.

But damned if he hadn't lifted her mood.

If there was one thing that Pansy knew how to do properly it was throw a dinner party. With only six people she set three places across from three more places. She would make it informal and not sit at the head of the table, but she did take care in placing the seat arrangements, being very precise with the place cards. She was in the middle on one side and had set Ron across from her as the only other single. There would be a couple facing each other on either side of them. That Ron was by default the only other single at the table was very deliberate, though she wouldn't admit that to anyone under torture. She arranged the floral centrepiece herself, deep purple roses, white lilies, and other complementary flowers. She made it low and long, wanting to make sure everyone could see each other over the display. She put together a menu, a five course affair consisting of an amuse bouche, appetizers, starters, the main course, and dessert. Her parents had hosted a twelve course meal for dozens of people in this very room before, stretching the table to fit everyone. Unaltered it allowed for thirty two - fifteen on each side and one at each end. Elegant women in gloves and tiaras had sat at this table, along with foreign dignitaries and other witches and wizards of great import. She'd paid careful attention to her mother's teachings on hostessing and party planning, which was the main job of a pureblood wife. She had just assumed this was her future as well, hadn't dared dream beyond it. Now people rarely called and she found herself purposeless, drifting through life.

No matter, she decided, pushing down the now familiar panic that accompanied this realization whenever she made the mistake of dwelling on it. No one was affected by that except for her, and there was no room for her feelings in the post-war world.

She heard the clock strike three and glanced at the half empty bottle of wine that she'd been working on since ten that morning. To calm her nerves, she'd told herself. But now she was trying to stay away from it until dinner and the attempt was harder than she'd expected which made her very uncomfortable. So she kept herself busy, fussing with already perfected details for the evening, She was relieved when it came to be time to change for dinner, finally able to give her hands something to keep herself busy with something that felt productive. Choosing a wardrobe, applying her makeup and scent, selecting her jewellery for the evening. Every detail seemed to matter much more than before.

Pansy stood in the grand entrance ready to receive her guests, twisting her chunky gold bracelet nervously. She wore an emerald green dress with sheer black sleeves, modest yet elegant. She owned all manner of dresses from ballgowns to sundresses, had never in fact been able to feel comfortable in long pants, and had wanted to look nice without appearing too formal. This was a mistake, she thought a few minutes before six, but it was too late to cancel now for no good reason other than she'd become a bit of a recluse.

When guests started arriving she graciously welcomed them to her home. Blaise and Angelina arrived first, promptly at six. Blaise wore a black suit with a black dress shirt — typical for him, showing no colour or personality despite being one of the most interesting people she knew. Angelina was on his arm in a powder blue skirt and white silk blouse, and she complimented her guests delicate pearls. Draco and Luna arrived shortly after, Draco in his own black suit but with a white shirt and green tie. Luna wore an all white lace frock that made her appear a bit angelic with her pale skin and blonde hair. She showed the guests through to the parlour for cocktails, keeping an ear out for the house elf she'd assigned to watch the fire for Ron. He was late which both irked her and made her more nervous, but fifteen minutes after he was expected Ron appeared in the fire.

"Sorry, sorry," he said. "I got held up at the Ministry." In truth he'd been a bit distracted for the evening and had fumbled his way through training that day which had earned him extra work. He'd barely had time to change before jumping in the fire, glad he'd opted to go dressier Just in case when he saw everyone else. His charcoal gray suit rarely saw use but he'd paired it with a black shirt and tie and had reasoned that he could discreetly take he tie off when no one was looking if he was overdressed. No need now, he saw. Both of the other men were dressed in suits too and he was relieved he fit in. He wasn't really sure what to expect at Pansy's, but he knew she probably didn't sit around in a tee shirt and jeans on a Saturday, let alone for a dinner party.

He held out a bundle of flowers for his hostess, manners drilled into him from his mother long ago. "For you," he said unceremoniously, handing Pansy a bouquet of purple tulips he'd picked up on his way home from work.

"For you," she countered, taking the flowers and trading them for a glass of amber liquid. He took the drink gratefully. "I'll just put these in water," she explained, moving from the room. And only after she disappeared to the kitchen for a water, vase in hand, did she let herself smile tenderly at the blooms.

When she returned to the parlour the five guests were discussing Quidditch, of course. Or rather, four of them were talking Quidditch seriously and Luna was chiming in where she felt appropriate with whatever she felt was applicable to the conversation, and usually wasn't. Pansy didn't follow Quidditch beyond the basic cheering on of school teams, but she was reasonably certain that 'losers lurgy' wasn't a thing. Since Pansy herself wasn't an expert on the topic she decided to change it as quickly as possible.

"Ron," she said, and he turned his attention fully towards her. "Tell me about your Auror training. What exactly do they have you doing?"

This piqued everyone's interest, and Ron was a bit surprised to find himself as the centre of the conversation. He was usually more of an input at the topic at hand kind of guy on the every day. People rarely asked about him directly, which tended to happen when you were the sixth of seven children and the most famous wizard in the worlds best friend.

"Well, there's a lot of supervised training with spells and enchantments and potions. There's a lot of bookwork, but we go out with fully qualified Aurors too so we know what to expect on raids. You get assigned to an Auror and you move when they move, basically. In another two years I'll be fully qualified though and out on my own, but at this rate we might be done a bit quicker."

"Why's that?" Blaise asked.

"Well they've got a shortage after the war. A lot of the department was killed or compromised. We're two trainees to an Auror now as it is. But also there's just a lot of work to do now. There's a lot dark wizards to catch these days, hiding after Voldemort fell."

It hadn't phased him to use Voldemort's name in quite some time, but he could tell it made the other guests uncomfortable. Even Luna looked a bit vexed by it, so he felt a bit awkward mentioning him by name. "Er, sorry. We're not allowed to say You-Know-Who anymore, new Auror department rules."

"Don't be sorry," Pansy said, even as her pulse raced. "That's what he called himself. Besides, he's dead. It's superstitious to be afraid of him now." It did make for rather a awkward dinner party topic though, so Pansy shifted away from him. "Is it terribly dangerous when you go out on raids?" she asked him, and Ron regaled them all with his tales until the dinner bell rang.

They found their place settings and took their seats. To balance the table between men and women Pansy sat between Blaise and Draco and across from Angelina, Ron, and Luna. Her mother said it always made for boring dinner conversation to sit couples next to each other as they tended to talk more to each other. This way they spoke across the table and anyone could join in. Plus it gave her a chance to catch up with her old housemates, although she didn't have much to catch them up on.

"Tell me, what are you doing for work these days," she said to Angelina, trying to make a concentrated effort to be nice to her. She hadn't really bothered too much with Luna in school, or Ron really, but Angelina was a girl on the Quidditch team opposite her boyfriend, so she'd been a bit merciless as far as picking on her.

"I've been studying wandlore," she explained. "Working under Ollivander. Luna introduced us as they're friends."

"That seems like an awfully complicated profession," Pansy said.

"It is," Angelina confirmed, "Especially as there's a lot of learning in the beginning. But I'm starting to make my own wands now, and it's incredibly rewarding. There's an art to it that I didn't realize when I first started."

"You should see our apartment," Blaise said cheerfully. "Wood shavings everywhere. It's like living in a hamster cage."

Angelina laughed. "I've been practicing designs at home. All my wands are a bit plain, I'm afraid."

"You're getting much better," he said, and Angelina shot him a warm look.

"Mr. Ollivander told me that he's starting to rely on you," Luna said kindly. "In fact he suggested you to me for an article on wandlore. Sort of as an assignment to your apprenticeship."

"What are you looking for?" Draco asked, interested.

"Well not much is known about it really since there are so few wandmakers, and it's a very specialized profession. I think readers would find it interesting to read about practical aspects of the job as well as an insiders perspective on the superstitions and rumours surrounding different wand types."

"Do you want an interview or do you want a written article?" Angelina asked.

"I'd take either based on what you'd prefer, but if you write an article yourself you get a publishing credit for your own resume."

"That one," Angelina decided quickly. "Wandmaking is a slow profession so anything I can do to help me move ahead or be more credible is a bonus."

"Ollivander though you'd see it that way," Luna said happily.

Pansy felt a bit left footed talking about careers even though she'd started the conversation. Luna was gearing up to run a whole magazine by herself, though she was in the planning stages right then, and Angelina was clearly very fascinated by her own job. Ron's job was busy, challenging, and exciting, and she knew Blaise and Draco's business affairs took them all over Europe. As heirs to great fortunes they had been raised to run the empires while she'd been raised to marry one of them and be largely ornamental.

She wished she had something in her life that interested her like the others did. Apathy and aimlessness coupled with a crippling anxiety after the parents arrests had held her down, but her isolation hadn't shown her just how much. She found more and more that she had little to contribute to every conversation, glad to be playing the role of hostess where it was more appropriate to ask questions instead of make the conversation about herself. In between sips of wine she had everyone opening up about themselves, joking, and sharing school stories.

When dessert was finished they moved into the sitting room for coffee and conversation, and Pansy was glad of the chance to chat with Angelina and Luna. She didn't really have girlfriends even when she was in school, and the opportunity to simply be a girl with no other expectation or requirement was refreshing. The men went out on the terrace to smoke cigars and she had a few moments alone with them.

"Are you seeing anyone?" Angelina asked Pansy, and she quickly revised her opinion on girl chat.

"Er, no. Not at the moment. I didn't really date so much as was paired off with Draco before the war but I've got a — well, I've got an iron in the fire." The admission made her cheeks warm a bit, which made her very uncomfortable. She hadn't dated Draco so much as had been matched with him at a young age so the flirt she'd had with Ron was all very new to her.

"Go on then," Angelina prompted, "Who is it? Anyone we know?"

Pansy bit her bottom lip. "Well," she said, glancing toward the terrace where the three men were laughing and carrying on.

"Oh," Luna said with delight, clueing in first. "Ronald?"

Angelina grinned. "A Weasley? Wonder of wonders."

"It's nothing. Yet. It may never be anything. But we've sort of got a — a — thing. I don't know what to call it. He infuriates me but at the same time —" She broke off then, because he'd looked in through the glass and locked eyes with her, and she quickly looked away. She felt on fire when she looked at him.

"Sounds like a crush to me," Angelina snickered.

"Shut up," she said in a hissing whisper. "They're coming in."

"Right," Angelina said, "Wouldn't want him to know that you want his ginger haired bab —"

"There you are!" Pansy said loudly to the three who re-entered the room, talking over Angelina's teasing. "I was about to send a search party."

"Yes, well, unfortunately I've got to make my way home," Draco said. "Luna's interviewing potential staff writers tomorrow and I've got an early meeting."

"At the Ministry?" Blaise asked, and Draco nodded. "I think I'm in on that one too." They had several overlapping business interests so they often ended up in the same boardrooms, and sometimes even planned it that way. "Blimey, I'd better turn in too I guess."

Pansy walked down with the group to the Floo, thanking them for coming.

"It was truly a lovely evening," Luna said, hugging Pansy before stepping into the fire.

"Amazing food. Thanks Pans," Blaise agreed.

Everyone was gone all at once and Pansy became very aware of her one remaining guest.

"I ought to go too," Ron said. "I work tomorrow and they show no mercy for hangovers, trust me."

"Well." She did want him to leave, wasn't sure how to make him stay. "Thank you for coming. And for the flowers." And she suddenly feared that neither of them would make a move, that this would be a one time flirtation that she had with him and that at the end of the day she'd still be right where she was — no job, no man, no passion in her life whatsoever — and the thought terrified her into action. Because she was tired of living in stasis, in not knowing what the future would hold. It was time to make her own destiny.

So she reached up (Merlin he was tall) and kissed him. It was only a chaste kiss on the lips, but when she pulled away she noticed that he was staring at her lips and it only took him a half second of stupor before he very much accepted her invitation and kissed her back. There was nothing chaste about this kiss though, all need and no manners, and it thrilled her. He pulled her closer and she felt a jolt inside of her when he did so. A small surprised "Oh!" escaped when her body was pulled to press against his. It gave her a heady tingling at her nipples and between her legs, an old aching need waking with his attention.

Yes, there was definitely something there alright.

"Ron," she murmured, and he took her sighing his name as permission to continue. He squeezed her to him again, gentler this time, and moved his hands from their polite placement at her back and waist to cup her bottom. Warning bells went off in her head. Too much, too soon, she told herself. But she allowed herself another guilty minute kissing him before she pulled back, a little breathless.

"Pansy." He moved one hand back to her waist, stroked her cheek with the other. "When can I see you again?" He asked, and Pansy heard her mother's voice in her head warning her not to seem too eager. Then ignored it.

"When are you free next?"

"Wednesday evening."

"Then you can see me Wednesday evening."

"I'll pick you up at six," he promised, and kissed her again. He figured he ought to get in the fire before they both changed their minds. She wasn't that girl, he knew, and he didn't want her to be for him.

He spun away in the fire and his last sight of Pansy was her standing there, watching him go, her delicate hand touching her bottom lip where he'd been a moment earlier. And he thought to himself, _Ron Weasley, you're in trouble._


	11. Chapter 11

Wednesday came alarmingly fast for Ron. He'd meant to find a nice restaurant and make a reservation, to buy a new shirt, to make a plan that would impress Pansy. But he hadn't been kidding around when he'd told them all at the dinner party how intense the training was, and he'd come home to Grimmauld Place where he lived with Harry to collapse in his bed each night — or morning, as it usually was — before having to get up and do it all again. And he'd slept in on Wednesday so he was only up two hours before he was supposed to meet her anyway.

Bollocks.

He dragged himself out of bed and ran the shower, making a plan on the fly as he moved about his room looking for something halfway decent to wear. He called out for Kreacher and asked him to prepare a basket of food, and thought to add a request for some wine and glasses to be added. "Meat and cheese and fruit," he said, rubbing his hands over his face to ty to wake himself up. "Sandwiches. Things we can eat on a picnic, please, nothing too messy." Kreacher had bowed and promised to do his best, and Ron sent a silent prayer up thanking his lucky stars that he'd wound up living with a house elf.

He showered quickly and found some cologne his sister had given him last Christmas, dashing some on. He put on a clean pair of light gray slacks and some socks, and added a blue button down shirt. He thought the next time he went clothes shopping he'd try to find some nicer items, because he was running out of pants that weren't jeans to wear around her. Which maybe she didn't care, but he'd seen the size of that place and people who lived like that did not go on dates in jeans and jumpers.

He dashed down the stairs and forwent the Floo, instead grabbing the basket from the kitchen and apparating on her doorstep. Just in time. Five minutes to spare, actually, which was pretty good for him. He looked up at the sky to see if it would foul his plans up, but there were only gentle wisps of clouds high up, nothing that looked capable of threatening rain. It was a warm evening in mid April and he decided that the gods were determined to make his date successful despite his poor planning. He knocked on the giant wooden door, and she came to greet him.

"I expected you in the Floo," she said with a smile when she opened the door.

He was a bit dumbstruck. He'd thought she was pretty when he saw her at Draco and Luna's, and he thought she'd been elegant and gorgeous when he went to dinner the weekend past, but Pansy Parkinson ready for a date was a sight to behold. She was wearing a pink silk thing with ties that went around her neck and crossed in the back. Her layered skirt fluttered around her dusky gold legs with a delicate swish, and she wore gold strappy heels that still couldn't put her eye level to him. She wore delicate diamond earrings and he thought that she smelled like something spicy — gingerbread, maybe.

"Um, what's all that?" She asked, gesturing to the basket.

He realized he hadn't said a word to her and tried to knock himself out of his reverie. "Sorry. You just look so amazing I — anyways. This is our date." He hefted the basket up a little, and then held his hand out. "You'll have to trust me," he said, "I'll need to apparate us."

She took his arm, already surprised and more than a bit trepidatious. She'd expected a mid to high end restaurant with a kiss goodnight and a promise to repeat. She wasn't sure what to make of all this. She reached inside to grab her wrap and shut the door behind her, then took his arm. They disappeared and reappeared somewhere far from the city, somewhere Pansy didn't even a little bit recognize. But she looked up and smiled. They were in an apple orchard, and it was in full bloom. White and pink blossoms covered the trees, their sweet scent surrounding the couple.

"Where are we?" Pansy asked, laughing with delight.

Ron felt his heart squeeze. He was lucky — the blooms only lasted for a few weeks, and they were likely at the beginning of that scale judging by the calendar. The sight of her in his family's apple orchard smiling and laughing and surrounded by flowers was one he never wanted to forget. "I grew up here," he answered, walking through the trees with her. He took her hand, tiny and warm in his. "The Burrow is about twenty minutes that way." He gestured towards the east with a nod of his head. "We're closer to Luna's old house now, actually, because the orchard sits near the lake that divides the property lines."

He found the spot he liked best and transfigured a blanket to sit on. They settled in and Ron opened the basket to get the wine open, and caught his first actual sight of what was inside. Well done, Kreacher, he thought to himself as he saw plates and cutlery and napkins along with the glassware, wine bottle, and food. He popped the cork and poured two glasses,

"What was it like growing up here?" Pansy asked as he picked through the basket, pulling their picnic together.

"Wonderful," he said warmly. "I didn't appreciate it at the time of course, because I was always surrounded by brothers and Ginny, and I always wanted Mum's attention but never the kind she was giving me."

"What kind was she giving you?"

"Punishments and yelling mostly," he said with no trace of resentment. "It wasn't easy raising seven children, and we got up to so much trouble it's a wonder she didn't skin us alive."

He told her some of the stories of what he'd got up to sign his brothers, usually easily led by Fred and George whom he idolized growing up, but he and Ginny had got together for some tricks too. She fell back laughing when he told her about the time they'd put itching powder in all of Percy's pants because he'd been insufferable once he'd been made prefect.

"It must have been wonderful," she sighed. "I was all alone growing up and I never got to do anything fun because I had to be a lady."

"What have you always wanted to do but couldn't?" Ron asked, spreading caviar on a cracker and handing it to her.

"Fly, mostly," she admitted easily. "I was only ever allowed to learn to ride aside, and I was never allowed to go fast. And forget playing Quidditch entirely."

"I could take you."

Pansy laughed. "What, now?"

"Why not?" Ron asked.

Pansy shook her head. "Don't you have to wait an hour after eating or something?"

"That's swimming. Come on now, fly with me." He absolutely loved flying and couldn't contain his excitement at the idea of taking her for her first real trip on a broomstick.

"Well I — alright then," she agreed.

He vanished the picnic basket and its contents back to Grimmauld Place, taking her hand. "You might want to take those shoes off if you don't want to ruin them," he warned, and she removed them to walk barefoot on the grass.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she told him. She carried her shoes in one hand and his hand in the other.

"Sorry, you're right," he said, and scooped her up in his arms bridal style. She screamed and then the laughed at the surprise of it, and he grinned at her. "Onwards, my lady."

"Put me down you foolish man," she ordered, but she was laughing again, and he shook his head.

"Nope. It's just up here anyway." He stepped into the clearing he'd wanted, with the broom shack that had been raised dozens of times by himself and his siblings. Now that they'd almost all moved out they'd mostly taken their brooms with them. His was still there though, and Percy's. He only took his out though, after he set her down gently.

"I'm going to ride with you," he said, mounting the broom. "You come sit up here at the front."

"I've never —" She broke off, regarding the broom worryingly.

"That's the point isn't it?" He said, trying to encourage her to join him. "I won't go fast at first," he promised, "Not until you say it's okay. And I'll hold onto you the entire time. I've never fallen off my broom and I'm not about to let you."

She gripped the broom with renewed purpose, pushing down her nerves. She swung her leg over it to mount as he had, immediately feeling awkward about it. She'd always sat aside the broom with both legs pushed together and slanted. It felt strange to change it now. She felt him put his arms around her though and immediately felt safer. He corrected her grip and told her why he was doing it, and placed his hands in front of hers to guide them. This meant that he was leaning forward a little, and since she leaned back for support they were pressed against each other. His body warmed hers. He still smelled like apple blossoms.

"Ready?" Ron asked, and Pansy nodded. So he gently kicked off the ground and flew a few small circles around the clearing just to get her comfortable. She inhaled sharply when he angled the broom up to get more height, and Ron murmured in her ear, "It's alright, Pansy. Trust me."

He gave it more speed now, more excitement, and he swooped and swirled in the air with her. He was showing off, he knew, when he did a figure eight loop with a corkscrew flourish, and he heard her squeal when he did. But she didn't sound distressed, she sounded exhilarated. So he pushed on, higher and faster, and when he felt too cold to be at it much longer he dove down, pulling flat at he last moment and doing one more circle to slow down.

"That w-w-was amazing!" Pansy cried. "W-w-what?" She asked when she saw Ron's concerned expression.

"I shouldn't have taken you up without a coat," he said, pulling her towards him. "You must be freezing. You're shaking, Pans."

"I'm f-f-f-fine," she tried to say, shivering through her words.

"You're cold," he corrected. "Come on, love, let's get you home."

He put the broomstick away and took her hand again, disapparating to end up back at her front door.

"Would you like to come in for some coffee?" Pansy asked.

"Not really."

"Oh." Her face fell. "Well then, I guess —"

"I really wouldn't mind coming in and pretending to be interested in coffee while I kiss you in your parlour though," he said, and Pansy grinned.

"Then by all means, come in and pretend," she said, opening the door and slipping inside, leaving it open for him to follow.

By the time he left for the night Pansy had been thoroughly mussed and tousled, but then so had he. He'd warmed her up by the fire alright, she thought with a blush to herself even as she was alone. Her body felt like it was buzzing, their heavy petting having quite an effect on her. She'd sat on his lap and made out with him, and his hands had roamed her body over her dress. She'd meant to only go that far, to stop there, but her will was weakened when she was with him. She found herself wanting more and more, his lips very persuasive against hers. He never pushed, never made her uncomfortable. Maybe that's why it was so easy to let him in. Because he wasn't insisting and acting like he deserved it, he was simply himself and she wanted to be pulled towards him again and again. So she had let herself. Because the old Pansy would have accepted a kiss at the door and no more, but this Pansy had walked by a mirror on her way to the parlour, pulling Ron behind her quite willingly, and had seen that her eyes had a sparkle she hadn't seen there in years. And her normal neat and tidy hair was a bit wild from their broom ride, pieces escaping her sleek bun. Her dress was wrinkled too, and she really couldn't care less because her cheeks had a pink tinge that she normally needed rouge to achieve. But Ron spent one evening with her and she was practically a different person, a more fun person, someone she liked infinitely better than who she had been.

So she allowed herself to rock against him in his lap, to feel her own desire build. To have her dress carefully pulled down as he took her breasts in his mouth. He was reverent with her, like he was being given a gift, and it made her head swim. No one had ever treated her like that before, not even Draco, not that they'd ever gone this far. She didn't blame him, really, since they'd been raised under the expectation that they'd just be together, so he had no reason to treat her special. She had, essentially, been given to him. But Ron was different, Ron wanted her, and that made all the difference to her. She could feel it in the way he held her, the way he kissed her. The way his body responded to having her in his lap.

His hands roamed up her skirts, his fingers dancing at the waistband of her knickers, lightly tickling her. She giggled at him, which was music to his ears. He slid his hand down the front of the fabric to find her hot and wet and ready for him, and he had to bite back his groan. He dipped a finger inside of her, testing the waters, and she responded marvellously by gasping and arching her back, which had an added effect of pushing her exposed breasts closer to him. Her nipples were pointed in her arousal, and darkened to an attractive shade — like a deep pink rose, he thought, his ears glowing a bit at the cheesy thought. He'd never been such a sot when it came to women but he was making all sorts of exceptions where it came to Pansy. With her he felt like he could teach her things, have fun with her, explore each other. He could tell that her still waters ran deep, and he wanted to dive into her. And then she moaned, and his mind went blank under the pleasure of being the one to make her make that sound, and he could only focus on her, on making her moan again.

"Please," she cried at his attentions as he built her up to a pleasure she'd never felt before. She felt like she was flying again. "Ron, oh, please!"

He moved her with some reluctance from his lap to lay her on her back on the couch. She moaned again when he removed his hand from her skirt to do so, this time disappointed, though she quickly changed her tune when he climbed under her skirts and focused his tongue on her. He hadn't had a lot of experience at this. Lavender had been too shy and giggly at the idea of going further than his hand under her shirt, and he'd seen a few women since the war who'd not really asked for it and he hadn't offered. But he wanted nothing more than to give Pansy pleasure, to hear her say his name like that again, so he resumed his position with his hand and added his tongues attention to her sensation. It wasn't long then before she was bucking under him. She writhed and mewled, and he tried to increase his speed and pressure until finally she was gasping his name and he could feel her closing around him, her own pleasure overcoming her.

He emerged from her skirts, a bit sweaty and rumpled from his effort. He wiped his mouth quickly while she recovered, eyes closed and panting lightly.

"Oh my stars," she was mumbling, and Ron kissed her. She reached for his belt to return the favour, but he stopped her.

"Not yet," he said, though he almost caved when she pouted at him. "Let's make this all about you tonight." He kissed her again, then stood before he changed his mind.

Pansy sat up, feeling a bit light headed. "Don't go," she requested. "Please, stay."

"I can't," he said ruefully. "I've got to be up at four for shift change." As it was he was already going to be suffering the next day. "And if I stay I'm not going to get any sleep, because I'm just going to be thinking about how I want to tear that lovely dress off of you."

Pansy blushed, pleased. She lifted her dress to cover her breasts again modestly, and he took her hand and helped her stand up.

She walked him to the fire, and he found himself with Pansy Parkinson plastered to him and lavishing him with kisses before he left.

"I have to go," he murmured.

"I know," she said, giving him another.

"Come to my house at 12 Grimmauld Place," he insisted. "Next week. Wednesday again. I'm off and Harry's working so I'll cook you dinner."

"A whole week?" She pouted again, and Ron's resolve was fast disappearing.

"A whole week" he confirmed. "Though if I can get away for lunch sooner I'll let you know."

And he went home to tend to his own needs, running Pansy's body through his mind as he stroked himself, the very recent memory of her sprawled topless in the firelight enough to have him spilling his seed in moments. He went to sleep that night dreaming of flying, dreaming of falling.

They saw each other in snatches of time whenever they could. Pansy didn't have much to keep her from Ron, but Ron's work schedule was horrendous so she met him around it. She gave him permission to apparate or Floo directly into her home whenever he pleased, which helped because sometimes he'd find her for lunch or, more likely, a quick snog and a sandwich to go. He took her back to the orchard to fly, and then she bought her own broom and he left his at her place so they could fly together there — less Muggles about and more freedom to take to the skies. He took her to a few Chudley Cannons games, even got her a jersey because she cheered on his team with him. He explained the finer points of Quidditch that she'd never really cared about before, and she started calling them "our team" which elated Ron to no end. He took her back to The Burrow throughout the summer to the pond, where he rowed her out with her parasol and gloves looking like a painting. Sometimes he convinced her to go swimming with him, and one mad night they'd even gone skinny dipping. He still wasn't sure how he'd talked her into that one.

Harry knew he was seeing someone of course, but he just called her Ron's Mystery Girl since he was tight lipped about her but obviously smitten. Harry had badgered him a thousand times to invite her over so he could meet her but Ron was so far dodging that inevitability. It wasn't that he wasn't proud of her, or wanted her to be in with his friends. It was just that she had been willing to offer his best friend up to Voldemort and he wasn't sure Harry could forgive quite so easily as Ron had. Because Ron saw how different she was. Because Ron had the shame of cowardice of his own to carry around. So he kept her away from Grimmauld Place when Harry was home, and he didn't mention her to him. At first he justified it by telling himself it was because it was so new, he didn't want to upset Harry over something that might not last. But she had very quickly become his world outside of work and he didn't want Harry to be angry at him. Not when she was so important.

The more he cared about her the more he worried for her, which was new for Ron. He'd been casually dating since the war, not really having much time for a relationship until he found someone who made him want to make time for a relationship. But he found himself spending every moment he could with her, and he'd picked up on a few things that worried him. For one thing, she was always home. No matter what time of day or night he popped into the manor she was there. They had a good time together, joking around and laughing, but she so often wanted to stay in unless he told her exactly where they were going and had made a plan. He had to show her that it was okay to go places, and he had a much easier time getting her out if she knew they'd be alone together somewhere. He was beginning to think that it was she who was a bit ashamed of him, but she sometimes had other people over and had no problem being affectionate towards him in front of them.

The drinking was the other thing. The first few times they'd been around each other it had been parties and evenings out, so he hadn't really thought anything of it. But he noticed that even around the house she tended to put a shot (or three) of something in her coffee, her tea, her lemonade. Twice he'd found her passed out during the day with a mostly empty bottle of wine Once it was in the morning, which made him sad. It really bothered him, which he could tell because he wanted to ask his mum about it but didn't. He didn't want her to disapprove of his girl before she met her.

He showed up to her place after a long day of work once and found her three sheets to the wind. He had to hold her up she was so sauced. And she cried, quietly but persistently.

"What's the matter, darling?" He asked her, stroking her hair and rocking her. "What's got you so upset? Just tell me and I'll fix it for you." He desperately wished he could. He had a feeling that it all linked to a great unhappiness.

"C-can't," She said, hiccuping. "S'no good. I can't fix it."

He tried to coax her problem out of her but couldn't. She just sobbed in his arms and it was all he could do to hold her and try to show her that she wasn't alone.

He cleared a few days at work after that. It hadn't been easy, but he got an iron clad three days for what he was calling a family emergency. Harry had given his a sidelong glance when he'd heard that, but Ron refused to explain it so he looked away and kept to himself.

"I got a few days off," he told Pansy, who had been bugging him to do so for ages.

"Finally!" Pansy said. "We can spend all weekend here. I can finally show you —"

"No, Pansy," he said before she got carried away. "I got a few days off so we could spend it working out what's bothering you."

Pansy's smile slipped. "What do you mean? Nothing bothers me when you're with me."

He recalled too vividly her shaking in his arms, even if she couldn't. "What about when I'm not here?" Ron asked gently. "Pansy, how much do you drink? How often do you leave your property when I don't take you out?"

Pansy opened her mouth to snap at him to mind his own business, but it didn't come. She closed her mouth. Because she could lie, but she didn't want to. She didn't want lies in their relationship.

"Too much," she whispered in answer. "And not enough."

"That's what I thought," he told her and held her while she cried again. Only this time she was sober and she'd remember the way he held and comforted her.

"I can stop," she told him. She seemed to realize the gravity of him taking these days to spend with her, to confront her. It was a difficult thing to do at this stage in his profession, but he had made the effort for this. And if it didn't work then Pansy feared he'd leave. "I'll stop drinking. I'll go out more." Even as she said it she felt anxiety wrapping around her throat, making it hard to breathe.

"I hope so," he said gently. "I do. But that's not going to cut it I'm afraid. You need to take care of the problem."

"There is no problem," she said, her voice high pitched and a little manic now.

"There is," he said. "Somethings driving you to do this. There's something there."

"There's nothing there!" Pansy said, frantic. "There's nothing there. Don't you see, Ron? That's the problem, there's nothing there. I don't have anything. I don't have a job, or a purpose. I don't have a family. I don't have a friends, not the way I used to. I have you, and I have a pile of money, and I have this house, this prison."

"Why don't you ever leave?" Ron asked. He hadn't realized she thought of it that way.

"Because everyone knows I'm a coward. Everyone knows I wanted to give Harry up. The first time I left the house after e-everything they spat at me. They tried to hex me. They tried to —" She broke off then, shuddering. "You're so used to living in a world where you're a hero that I think you forget that it's a cruel world for people who weren't."

Ron reeled. What had happened to her? And Pansy could see him, could actually see him thinking that it couldn't have been that bad, so she took his hand and brought him with her to her fathers old study. There on the desk sat something that Ron recognized. A pensieve.

"What —"

But she raised her wand to her temple and pulled out a memory, sending it to swim in the basin. "Jump in," she said, hiccuping.

With no reason not to, Ron jumped in. He found himself in Diagon Alley. A glance at a newspaper for sale showed the date as one week after the fall of Voldemort. They were at the quieter end of Diagon Alley, where the less frequented shops were. He caught sight of Pansy, looking rather thin and pale, carrying a shopping basket filled with potion ingredients. She'd was looking down at a list, trying to figure out what else she needed.

"I'm trying to make a Dreamless Draught," present day Pansy told him. He hadn't noticed her walking up to him. "And I needed to get fresh flowers for my bedroom, a new cauldron. I was trying to decide if I should get a few more glass flasks because I was almost out, and I had to get a package my parents ordered."

"Everything looks —"

"Wait. Here it comes."

The memory of Pansy bumped into someone.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Pansy said, bending down to help him up.

"Not yet, you aren't," he said nastily, he ignored her hand and got himself up off the ground.

"I am," she said wearily. "I was lost in my thought, I didn't see you there."

"Aren't you the Parkinson girl?" He asked.

Pansy's back straightened. "Yes."

"You and your lot have it coming to you."

Pansy said nothing.

Another passerby had heard her say she was a Parkinson, had stopped in her tracks at the news. "Your parents killed my boy," she accused.

Pansy looked frightened now. Other people were starting to stare, to gather.

"And my daughter," a man said. "Because they didn't believe she was half-blood. They'd been offended by her. She was nineteen."

Tears were slipping down her face. "I-I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't -"

"You fought for him, did you?" Another said.

"I didn't fight for anyone," Pansy said meekly.

"My babes went hungry in hiding," someone else said.

Someone spat at her, and then someone else did too.

"She offered Harry up to him," a boy said. He looked about fourteen. Ron didn't recognize him. "She had to be ordered out of Hogwarts to protect him."

This enraged the onlookers, and one of them took a swing at her, but she dodged it.

"Please, no! I was scared, I —" The crowd was closing in now, pushing her around between them. She saw a few wands being produced, and she was clearly shaken up by it. Someone knocked her down hard, and her blouse tore. She held it up with one hand.

"Leave her be," someone in the crowd said, upset by her unclothed state.

"My daughter was raped by a Death Eater before she was killed," one man said, "So if it happened to her I would call it payback." And he grabbed the rest of her blouse and ripped it off. A few of the men stepped forward, looking ready to make good on the man's wish.

"N-no," Pansy said, scrambling for her basket. Her wand was in it. "No, please!" She was screaming now, because when she knelt to get her wand someone else grabbed her hips, took a few dry humps at her skirted behind.

"C'mon lass," someone said, "I'll bet you'll like it, you Death Eater whore. I'll bet you serviced the whole lot of them."

Pansy broke out of the crowd, wand in hand, wild eyed and shirtless.

"Looks like she drew her wand," someone said. "That's a threat if I ever saw one. Looks like anyone here could defend themselves if they felt threatened. I feel threatened, do you?" A few in the crowd agreed, and someone cast a spell at her. Pansy threw a shield up automatically, thinking it was a hex, but they both heard the spell clearly now. It was a vanishing spell aimed at her — or, more likely, the remains of her clothes.

She abandoned the basket of shopping and disapparated away while she could, while no one else was touching her. And she landed on the floor of the manor in her skirt and bra, alone and afraid, sobbing.

"That's enough," the present day Pansy said, pulling him out. Ron stared at her, bewildered. She stood straight backed, her eyes steel.

"Pansy."

"I don't go out," she said. "Not alone, not where I think people will recognize me. I stay here, and I drink, and that's what I do. And I don't have anyone over usually because that's what the world thinks of Pansy Parkinson."

"Not me," he said fiercely. "Never me."

"You did!" Pansy accused. "Before we got together you thought I was a coward for trying to turn Harry in."

"I —" he stopped, sighing. "Let me tell you a story about what happened the winter before you did that." And he told her, backing up at some points to explain horcruxes so she'd understand what the necklace was doing, the deluminator, the awful fight. The blue light. Hermione and Harry.

She wanted to hear more about that year, and every year back to their first year in Hogwarts, but he shook his head. "Another time," he said placatingly. "But don't you see? I'm his best friend and I abandoned him because I was scared. Scared of Voldemort, scared of what could be between them. I was a dirty coward. But the point is I came back. You can come back from these things."

"Is that why you aren't together?" Pansy asked, sniffling still. "You and Hermione?"

Ron shook his head no. "She's not — I could just see how our entire lives played out. She's working really hard, I'm working really hard, we have a couple of kids, dinner at Harry's once a week, marriage counselling, divorce when the kids graduate. Maybe not exactly like that," he said, "but close enough. I looked at her and I thought I'd better have my fun now because after this it's going to be work and fighting for marriage, and I dunno. I was willing to do it but wanted time. But then she found Fred."

Pansy winced. "Is that what I am?" She asked, "The fun before your serious relationship?"

Ron took her hand. "No, Pans. The thing is, I look at you and I don't see that same struggle. I see me working hard, you working hard, we get married and have a couple kids, dinner at Harry's once a week — and laughing together. And flying, and going to Quidditch games. And we play and love and learn and go through life together. Something we won't have to work so hard at, because Pansy I promise you that I can have a good life with you."

"You want to marry me?"

"One day," Ron said, drawing her into him and resting his chin on the top of her head. "But I want to marry a Pansy who's happy with herself. Who has a job not because she needs one but because she wants to do something with her life. One who can leave the house unafraid. One who doesn't escape to her problems in a bottle."

"I think I can be that Pansy, one day."

"I know you can," he corrected. "But the thing is, you don't have to be that Pansy alone. I can help you get there."

They spent the rest of that day at her house. Ron did everything he could think of to make her feel comfortable, feel happy, because he knew the next two days wouldn't be easy for her. They spent the day in bed together, playing wizards chess and talking about all the things they wanted to do together.

"I want to go to Spain," she said.

"I want to go to Iceland," he countered.

"I want to make a perfect pie."

"I want a dog. A Jack Russell Terrier."

"I want to get on the big screen at a Chudley Cannons game."

"I want to learn an instrument."

"I want to quit drinking." Ron smiled, so she continued. "I want to make you smile like that every day."

"I want to be friends with Hermione again. The way we used to. And I'm going to get an Order of Merlin, First Class."

"We can help each other," she said, holding his hands in hers. "Please say we'll do all these things together."

"Well I sincerely hope so," he said, "Because I've heard Harry sing in the shower and he's tone deaf, he certainly not going to teach me an instrument."

She rolled over in the bed in a fit of giggles. "Can he really not sing? I thought he was supposed to be good at everything."

"Yeah he's great at singing. Like a banshee. He did a Weird Sisters song the other day and I actually thought Kreacher was going to cry."

"I can play the piano," she said. "And the flute, and I can sing."

"All that?" Ron asked, surprised. "You're a wonder."

"They're all ladylike talents," she said, rolling her eyes a little.

"What other ladylike things can you do?" Ron asked, tracing circles on her back with his fingers.

"Well, I can draw. Dresses and furniture and landscapes and flowers, mostly. I can arrange flowers expertly. I can sew, embroider, cross stitch, and write using calligraphy."

"Is calligraphy the one with the fancy pen?"

"Yes. And I can name every magical head of state in Europe and North America. I can dance, of course."

"Of course."

"And paint."

"Houses?" Ron teased.

"Landscapes and flowers again, I'm afraid."

"You're like a one woman charm school."

"Sort of," Pansy said, amused.

"Maybe you should do that for a job. Teach little lords and ladies all the important things."

Pansy laughed. "Honestly I think that's dying with my generation. But you see why I can't pick what to do. All of my skills are foolish time wasters for women who's real skill is making heirs."

"You just have to find what you're passionate about," he said reassuringly. "Tell me about the pie you're going to make."

"Lemon meringue," she said with a sigh. "My favourite. And apple. And blueberry, and mincemeat."

"One of those things doesn't belong," he pointed out.

"It's the crust," she explained. "So flaky."

He wanted to point out that his mother could show her how to make a good crust, but he didn't think they were ready to meet yet so he bit his tongue. One day, he told himself, when Pansy quit drinking and could go outside without him. Baby steps. He had a plan for her.

They stayed up late talking and slept in the next morning. Then they started the day with a ceremonial dumping of liquor. They could have vanished it all easily but Pansy decided instead to dump it all down the sink. She left the wine cellar as there were expensive bottles in there that she could still use for dinner parties, but she had never touched those anyway really. Her problem was the gin, the vodka, the whiskey, the brandy. So she poured it all away to Ron cheering her on, and then they took the bottles out and smashed them together before vanishing the glass.

"Okay," he said when they were done. "Step two."

"What's step two?" Pansy asked wearily.

"We're going out." At the look on Pansy's face Ron kissed her forehead. "Don't worry," he said.

"How can you say that after you saw — you saw —"

"That won't happen."

"You can't promise that."

"I can, for one thing you're dating an auror, and a damned good one," he said, letting his chest puff out a bit as a display for her. "I'll protect you. I'll be like your personal bodyguard. Besides, we're not going to Diagon Alley."

"Where are we going?" Pansy asked reluctantly.

"Ottery St. Catchepole, the village near where The Burrow is. It's small, but it's got shops you might like."

"Maybe."

"It's a Muggle village, Pans. The Weasley's and the Lovegood's have been the only witches and wizards for years. Well, since the Diggory's moved away. No one will recognize you. Me, maybe, since I've been there before, but not you."

Pansy nodded cautiously.

"Okay," he said. "I'll apparate to the property line and then walk in. We'll pop into the shops, get lunch, come home. And Pansy? You know I'd do anything to make sure nothing happens to you, don't you?"

Pansy swallowed past the lump in her throat. "Yeah," she said softly. "Let's go then."

They spent the day in the village as planned. Pansy had started out ashen faced, and no wonder, but had relaxed a bit once they walked all around the village and no one so much as batted an eyelash at her. Even when he introduced her to the grocer that he saw all the time. His mother asked him to pick something up for her once and a while, he suspected just to make sure he visited when he dropped it off, so he knew Ron by name.

"Have you met my best girl, Pansy Parkinson?" Ron asked, taking her hand. Obviously he had not as this was her first time stepping foot in the village, but he just wanted to say her full name out loud, just to prove that he could here.

"No my boy. Pleased to meet you ma'am. Say... Parkinson..." Pansy braced herself for the onslaught, prepares to disapparate away no matter how many Muggles were watching. "Are you by chance related to a Mrs. Barbara Parkinson down in Wiggaton?"

Ron squeezed her hand because she was so relieved she forgot to answer. "Er, no sir, I don't think so," she said.

"Don't tell Mum and Dad I've been round," he said cheerfully. "They'll be livid you met her before me, Mr. Green."

"Pleased to meet you sir!" Pansy said, remembering her manners.

They shopped for a bit then, with the Muggle money that Ron had changed over ages ago. He told her he wanted some new clothes so they had him fitted for pants and vests and suit jackets, and picked out a few ties and some dress shirts. Basic black, she said as if it was obvious, pushing three of them in his hands. White — he was given seven of those. Light blue, dark blue, grey. Ron was suddenly awfully glad that the exchange rate was so good for galleons to pounds. They ate lunch at one of the charming cafes just off the main drag, a place that smelled like freshly baked bread and strong coffee. Ron bought her a sketch set from an art store earlier that morning, a reward for going out, which came with a sketch pad and high quality drawing pencils.

"That's awfully good," he said, sipping his tea as he watched her roughly sketch a scene out the window. A couple on a bench, him chatting her up and her being aloof. But Pansy caught the smile that twitched in the corners of her lips, the very reason he kept chatting with her. And then he said something that made her burst with laughter, and Pansy shook her head.

"Damn," she said ruefully. "I wish I'd been able to get that smile instead."

"I like this one better," he said after the couple moved on into the cafe and she started filling out the background. "It's like the split second before she gives in. The calm before a very beautiful storm. Oi!" He called over to the boy.

"Ron, no!" Pansy said, hideously embarrassed. He was going to show them.

"Pansy, yes!" Ron countered in the same scandalized tone.

"Can I help you?" He asked.

"Yes. I just wanted you to see my girls drawing."

"Okay," the boy said, bemused. He peered over the paper and Pansy watched his face break out into a grin. "Oh. It's Lissa," he said fondly, touching a loving finger to the smile on the paper. "Do you think I could have this?" He asked hopefully.

Pansy blushed. "You want it? Really?"

"I'll buy your lunch for it," he offered, and Ron lifted his eyebrows at Pansy.

"Er - deal," she agreed. She passed the drawing over along with the bill. As they were walking out Pansy had to remark to Ron how nice that was that he'd wanted it.

"Must be the nice table you drew in it," he said innocently, "I mean, seeing as that's all you can draw." She punched his arm, and they found a private spot to apparate. Ron thought he might be able to stretch out the day there but he didn't want to push his luck, and he did want to keep his promise to her. If he altered the deal half way though she'd never trust him, just feel bullied by him. So they took a nap together. Or rather, Pansy took a nap. Ron just held her and guarded her against bad dreams, which seemed to have been ignited by the pensieve. When she twitched and distressed in her sleep he smoothed her hair, whispered to her that it would be okay. Only when he was sure she was deep in sleep did he let himself drift off too.

When he woke the bed was empty beside him. He could see a light on in the attached bath, but the door was closed. He could hear sobs though, so he knocked lightly on the door. "Pansy? Are you alright?" Ron asked.

"R-Ron," he heard from behind the door. He opened it cautiously and found Pansy in the large claw foot tub. It was steaming hot and filled with bubbles. Her skin was slick with sweat from what he could see of it, and her hair that was piled high to keep dry was limp and wet too. She was crying. "R-Ron," she said again. She was shaking.

"What are you doing, my love?" He asked her. "It's like a sauna in here."

"E-exactly," she said. "I'm trying to get all th-the booze out. I read that you can sweat to help. But I can't stop sh-sh-shaking."

He had worried that this might happen when she quit. He took her hand. "This isn't going to be the easy part," he said. "But I'm here for you."

So he sat on the warm tile next to the tub and sweat with her.

He had to hand it to her, she was trying. Quitting the booze seemed to come easier to her than going out though, and he had to badger her to go out again the next day even though Ottery St. Catchepole had been a smashing success. But he eventually wheedled her outside again to another small Muggle village, this time on the beach. They walked along the shore, Pansy picking up shells and handing them to Ron for safekeeping as they went. He passed her back a rock.

"What's this?" She asked.

"Its a worry stone," he said simply. "You don't normally find them natural like this. They sell them in the shops."

"What do you do with it?"

"Hold it in your palm," he instructed. "Now rub your thumb over that dip in the middle. Good, that's it. So when you're worried you just do that, and it makes you feel better."

Pansy had to admit it was having an effect. "How does that work?" She asked.

"Not sure," he admitted. "But it does. I think it's a Greek thing or something. Percy would know."

"We'd better go," he said when the sun began to set. "I'm back to work tomorrow."

"Do you have to?" Pansy asked. She was scared to be left to her own devices. She was so good when she was with him — it was when she was alone that she started putting drinks in her tea and hiding inside.

"I have to. Maybe you can visit Luna at The Quibbler tomorrow," he suggested. "She's there almost every day and I'm sure she'd take time to see you."

"Maybe," she said with little conviction. They kissed goodbye on the beach in the dying light. She held onto him for dear life.

"I'll see you soon," he promised. "I'm not sure when, but soon."

She wanted him to live with her, to leave work and come home to her instead of to Grimmauld Place, but she knew he couldn't. They hadn't had sex yet, something that relieved and worried her. What if he hated sex with her? What if she was bad at it? She'd been saving herself for marriage to follow the pureblood ideals but now she'd fallen way from all that. But he could hardly move in to a guest bedroom. So she never asked, though she noticed a definite uptick in time he spent with her now and she doubted he was spending much time at Grimmauld Place at all.

Over the next few months she took more small outings with him. A day here, a day there. They celebrated the small victories, like when she made her first trip to a Muggle village alone. It was one hour in Ottery St. Catchepole, but she'd done it. Or the time she'd met Ron at the Ministry for lunch. Nothing could happen to her like that memory she'd shown him in the crowded atrium of the Ministry, he had reassured her. Besides, he'd be with her the whole time. He found that he was able to reason through most of her fears to push her in the right direction. She'd probably never go to Diagon Alley alone again, he knew, but she was venturing out.

She'd even procured herself a freelance position at The Quibbler. Luna hired her on an as needed basis to do illustrations for the soft launch of her magazine, which kept Pansy busy without overwhelming her. He'd been pushing her to spend time with Luna because she was the kindest person Ron knew, and could be a real friend to Pansy. It hadn't taken Luna long to suss out Pansy's artistic ability and persuade her to help out at the Quibbler. She did mock up covers for Luna and some other illustrations and page art.

Emboldened by Luna's confidence in her, Pansy started job hunting anew. She wasn't sure she wanted to draw for a living, though she enjoyed being a part of the Quibbler, but she'd felt useful for the first time in years and she wanted more of that feeling. She told Ron that she'd only ever been good at planning parties, and what's more had always liked planning parties, though that seemed a useless skill and nothing to build a job off of.

"Yeah, okay," Ron said after listening to her lament again about how she had no skills. "So plan parties."

"Plan parties for a living?" Pansy asked with a laugh.

"Yeah," he said simply. "Like, who puts those hospital galas together when there's a big donation and they need to make a fuss to give an award out?"

"Well. I suppose they have a special events coordinator."

"And what about the Ministry?" Ron asked. "They're always moaning about how planning those things takes resources from other departments. Why couldn't you plan the Order of Merlin ceremonies? You know all the protocol for every situation. You know about place settings and party favours and the right food and the right music."

She stared at Ron. "I hadn't even considered — but how would I even get started?"

"You hadn't considered it because you're always counting yourself out or tearing yourself down," he informed her. "And you get started by getting started. Invite some of the people who put these events together over for a dinner party. Isn't that like an interview for that stuff? Join a committee. I don't know. You've got enough money that you can take your time building a reputation in events planning."

"I could do weddings," she said. "My own business. Weddings, graduation parties, book launches. I can be contracted to work on government events." She felt a bit light headed. Was this it? Was this what she'd been looking for all along, staring her right in the face? Good heavens.

"I keep telling you that you've got skills," he said, and Pansy jumped on him. Because he had told her, he had told her a million times, and she hadn't listened. He had to practically hand her a business she'd excel at before she'd see what was right in front of her face.

"You're — absolutely — bloody — brilliant!" Pansy told him between kisses, and the tips of his ears glowed.

Once she finally had a plan she was unstoppable. She applied for a business licence the same day, a new Gringotts account for the business, and started researching vendors to see who was the best in town for different events. Maybe she could even expand down the road to have her own catering staff, she figured. She called her business Elegance. She designed her own flyers and posters, business cards and advertisements. She knew word of mouth was key with these things, so she let her friends know first before she started full force. Luna immediately signed on for a launch party for The Quibbler, which had seen a soft launch months ago but was coming up on its official release date now that she'd nailed down her staff and got a rhythm going. As her first client, Pansy intended to pull out all the stops.

She realized the fatal flaw in her plan after she rolled up her sleeves and got to work on the planning. She couldn't avoid Diagon Alley anymore. She reached this crossroads quite quickly in the infancy of her company and was paralyzed with fear. Clients would want to meet her there since it was so central. A lot of the vendors she researched operated out of there. If she wanted to pursue this she'd need to be able to go there on her own. So she steeled herself one day and made the decision that she'd have to face her demons.


	12. Chapter 12

Pansy stood at the entrance to Azkaban, shivering. The Dementors were just awful, a thousand times worse than she remembered from her third year. Still she made her way inside, signing in and requesting visitation to her parents. She was shown to a dank cell in the high security section of Azkaban. These prisoners weren't allowed to be transported to the visiting rooms because they were either flight risks, or had committed crimes so heinous that they were not afforded the privilege of visitation. She'd had to throw a bit of gold around to arrange to see her own parents.

They looked thin and haggard. They looked crazed.

"Why are you here?" Her father asked.

"I just had to see you," she said. "For closure. I've — well, this last year has been difficult for me."

"Is your mansion not comfortable enough?" Her mother asked cruelly. "Is our money not helpful enough?" Pansy had arranged for a transfer of assets immediately after their imprisonment so as not to lose anything, and clearly they resented it.

"I couldn't go outside for months," she snapped. "I get harassed in the streets. I'm trying to put my life back together. I'm trying to overcome what you did."

"You were never a true supported of the Dark Lord," her father said, as though this were her greatest failure. "Otherwise you would be in here with us, proudly."

"Well I wish you'd tell everyone else that," she said with a hollow laugh.

"You should be in here with us," her mother repeated, "Not consorting with blood traitors."

Pansy whirled around to face her mother. Of course. Even here they'd have their spies. "I'm a blood traitor now," she said, her daring increased by their bars. "And I'm going to marry him."

"Please, spare me the dramatics," her father said. "It doesn't suit you. You won't marry."

"He says —"

"It doesn't matter what he says. You're a Parkinson. Your parents are Death Eaters. Does he bring you round to tea with his mother? Take you to dinner with Harry Potter?" At her ashen look her father laughed cruelly. "I thought not. He's taking advantage of you, because I'm sure you've been desperate enough to throw yourself at him. Well, he'll be done with you soon enough."

"I've got to go," she said woodenly. "I'm not sure why I made the effort to come here. I won't come again."

"Don't," her mother agreed. "The next time I see you I'd rather you were here with us."

"You both did heinous things," Pansy said, shaking. "You deserve this place. You deserve —"

A door opened, and light spilled down the aisle. She turned to see who was there, if a guard had come to get her, and was shocked to find Ron. He had a prisoner by the arm and he tossed him in a cell.

"Pansy?" He said, recognizing her. "What're you —"

"Visiting dear old mum and dad," her mother said harshly.

"I've got to go," Pansy said, and pushed past Ron with tears in her eyes.

"What did you say to her?" Ron demanded.

"Nothing she didn't already know," Mr. Parkinson said, and neither would speak to him again.

He had to finish his shift. He'd needed to do some paperwork on the prisoner he'd brought in, then he had a patrol round and follow ups on his active cases. Plus his partners reports, since he was still a trainee and had grunt work to do. He wasn't able to get away until nine hours later. Exhausted, he apparated home. He considered going to Pansy but thought he ought to wait on that. She'd need time to process whatever she'd experienced, and he needed sleep.

There was a knock at the door, which made Ron groan. Harry was on call and Kreacher had been asked not to answer the door in case it was a Muggle. He hauled himself off the couch to answer it, blinking when he saw Pansy.

"Hullo. I was just thinking about you. Come in."

She did, but she stayed in the front hall and did not remove her coat. "I won't stay long," she promised. "I know you must be tired. I — I came to let you off the hook."

"Er. What hook?"

"I came —" her voice broke, and her lip quivered. "I came to break it off now. Before anyone's feelings get hurt. Before I get too dependant on you." The tears that had been welling in her eyes since she left Azkaban spilled now.

"Don't do that," he said gently. "Don't break it off. What did they say to you in there?"

"Just the truth. We're too different. Your mum does Christmas baking and knits all year round to give you all jumpers. My mum tortured people. I'm n-never going to be someone you'll want to bring round for t-tea." She was shaking now, but she shined away from him when he reached out to touch her. "I can't be a secret to you. I c-can't be acceptable either, because of who I am. So it's best if we end it now, officially."

"And I suppose I get no say in this?" Ron asked, getting ticked off. She had no right to just make a decision like this, to decide what was best for him.

"I think the issue is very clear," she said, struggling for composure.

"Well I'm in love with you, so let me make that perfectly clear while we're at it," he snapped. "And I've seen you through some pretty dark shite Pansy, and we've been supporting each other and helping each other for months now, and I'll be damned if we'll throw it away because your awful parents made you think you're not good enough."

"W-what —"

"I've loved you for months now," he said, "But I've been waiting to say. I didn't want to be too fast for you. I didn't want to scare you off. Of course I want you to meet my mum, you're going to be my wife one day! And if my friends don't like you then they can sod off cause I only care about you anyway, and if they're really my friends they'll rise above your past."

"But my parents, what they've done is too much. I can't ask you to take me on. I can't ask anyone. I'll be a stain on everything you do in law enforcement."

"Shag law enforcement!" Ron yelled. "A stain on — Merlin's pants, Pansy, they've done a number on you! Show me your arm. Right now, come on."

She was so unused to him speaking to her this roughly that she just obeyed. She lifted the sleeves of her coat to show her bare arms.

"No Dark Mark," he noted. "No criminal record either — I'd know. And you're not your parents, you don't get to punish yourself for their crimes. I get to punish them for their crimes. Did you know I was on the team that arrested them?"

Pansy shook her head, shocked. He knew, he knew better than anyone what they'd done and he still took up with her.

"I didn't realize."

"Clearly," he said, still steaming. "So don't come in here telling me you're no good for me now. Not after all we've been through. Not when I don't care a spit who your parents are or what they've done. If anything it makes you more remarkable that you came out as well as you did, because as mean as you could be in school you never once raised a hand to hurt anyone. Not the way your parents did. So you take your breakup speech and you stuff it."

There was a ringing silence for exactly half a second before Pansy wailed, the tears flowing in earnest now. "I l-l-love you too!" she cried, sobbing, and Ron's anger drifted away. Because now that everything had been said he had a crying woman in his foyer, one that he was more fond of than anyone.

"It's okay, darling," he said, finally taking her into his arms. "I've got you. And I'm not going to let you go, you hear? So you drop all this nonsense. Here we go, let that out." He walked her to his room, hoping he'd remembered to tidy. He'd asked Kreacher to stay out of there when he'd started finding his socks ironed.

Finding it not too bad he quickly made the bed and then pulled he covers back. "You get undressed. Here." He handed her a Chudley Canons shirt he'd worn to bed the night before. It wasn't dirty, just a little rumpled. "I'm going to make you some tea."

"I don't want tea," she said. But she took her shirt off anyway.

"Well you're going to get it. Tea and rest, that's what you need."

"No."

"Why are you so bloody contrary?"

"Because my boyfriend just told me he loves me," she said. Her sniffles were gone now, and she didn't feel quite so bad anymore. "And I love him. So I don't want tea. I want my boyfriend." And she unzipped her skirt and removed that as well. In her black lacy knickers and bra she lay in his bed, reaching for him.

Oh.

"I think it's time," she said, her voice a little husky. "Make love to me, Ron."

 _Oh._

He pulled his shirt off over his head. He pulled his jeans off, taking his pants with them. They'd done pretty much all they could do without him actually having sex with her, so he wasn't shy. And neither was his cock, which stood at attention at the sight of her. She pulled him to her and gripped his hips, taking him in her mouth. His knees immediately felt like water. He moved his hips gently to thrust in her mouth and she sucked on him as he did so, her mouth warm and wet. They'd done this countless times before but every time was like the first time, new and exciting. She adjusted her hands so they were cupping his bottom, and he groaned, pulling back. He needed to save his resolve for later because he was dead tired and sure he'd only have one good one in him.

"Let me take care of you," he said softly. "Let me." He'd seen her in various states of undress before in their hot and heavy makeout sessions, but never had she been fully naked in front of him. He unhooked her bra and slid it off throwing it to the floor. He walked her panties down with his finger a bit at a time, kissing every inch of newly exposed skin.

"I adore you," he murmured at her inner thigh. He kissed her sex. "I worship you." And he dipped his tongue inside of her. He'd done this before with her, several times now, but this time it felt bigger. Like it meant more. He knew she was a virgin, knew she'd been saving herself as part of some ruddy pureblood tradition. More like contract, the way he understood it. It would have been a big thing for any girl to lose her virginity she supposed, but this was more than that. This was the last vestige of her past, of the old her. Choosing him now, before marriage, meant choosing to be far away from who she was. It was a commitment to her new self, a firm foot planet against everything she'd been raised to believe.

The air was thick and charged, and it didn't take long before Ron felt her writhing under him. He knew what she liked now, knew what she loved. Knew what to do to make her quiver. He had through trial and error spent countless hours with his head between her legs determining what worked for her and what didn't, trying new things all the time. Time well spent, he thought wolfishly when she cried out in pleasure. And because he really wanted her to enjoy her first time he kept going, not pausing at all for her recovery. Usually after she came he stopped, let her regroup. Or stopped and let her take care of him. Or she snuggled up in his arms and held her before he either had to go or they fell asleep together. But today he kept going, kept giving, kept servicing her.

"Oh!" Pansy said, surprised. "But I already — oh!" And got on the heels of her first orgasm, Pansy felt herself building up for another one. Hard and fast she cried out even louder, sweating now with the force of it. She panted heavily, fingers tangled in his hair, and Ron wondered what she'd do if he kept going again. And again. It was worth exploring another time when he was well rested and had the time to focus on her. For now he just dipped a finger in and out of her and felt how impossibly wet she was.

He kissed his way up her body then, dipping his tongue quickly in her navel, suckling at her breasts. He loved how her nipples always seemed to be erect, even when she was sleeping. He was drawn to them, and she moaned at his attention. He kissed her neck, nibbled at her earlobes, found her mouth at last. His hips were moving almost involuntary with his own need, and he cupped her cheek gently. "Are you ready?" Ron asked.

"I'm ready," she said, though she sounded a little nervous.

"Let me know if I need to do something, or stop something," he said. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Let's just — oh you're driving me mad!" Pansy said, and Ron chuckled. He'd been trying to make sure she was comfortable and the whole time his cock was poised at her entrance. The anticipation was too much.

"As you wish," he said, and slowly pushed inside of her.

It was easy at first. She was wetter than he'd ever felt her after two orgasms on top of each other. He slid in easy, and she gasped under him.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked. His own forehead was gleaming with effort. He had to go slow for her benefit but his body just wanted to pump into her. Merlin she was tight.

"Yessss," she hissed. She arched her back. "I'm just feeling so much and so full and — oh, Ron, I think this is the tough part."

He'd reached a barrier, what he knew must be her maidenhead. No easy way around this one, he figured, and he pulled back and pushed through it. She gave a short, muffled scream.

"Sorry love, sorry," he said, kissing her forehead. "Couldn't be helped."

"J-just keep going," she implored, because everything would be okay with time, she just knew it.

He tried to go slow for her, finally moving back and forth, in and out of her. When he saw she stopped winding and started looking as though she were enjoying herself again Ron picked up the pace. She shifted to open her legs more to him and he was soon banging away at her. Her breasts bounced with every thrust.

"I've gotta — I'm gonna —" Ron tried to tell her, and she clutched him as he came inside of her. She was so tight and wet still that Ron could hardly believe he'd made it that long.

"Oooh, Ron," Pansy said, eyes rolling back in her head a bit. "Oh yes. Oh that is _good_."

"What?" He asked, a bit breathless.

"I can feel you coming inside of me," she said, "And it feels so good. It feels so — oh yes. I didn't realize I'd — _oh_!" He pulled out of her slowly, gently. She felt a little too empty. But Ron's seed inside of her, his cock pulsing and he emptied himself in her, made her juices flow anew. She reached down tentatively and started touching herself.

Ron's eyes went glassy watching her. He let her play with herself for a few moments, stroking his freshly revived cock as he did so, then joined in, replacing her hand with his. She sighed and closed her eyes, and Ron had an idea.

"You should get in top of me," he said, and she rolled over on top of him. She was so thoroughly pleased that she would have likely tried anything he'd asked in that moment. He worked with her to slip himself inside of her, and she moved on top of him. They found a position that worked for them both and he guided her hand back to her clit. He gripped her hips and rocked into her. And it wasn't long before she was crying out in pleasure for a third time, Ron had the distinct pleasure of feeling her quake around him, and he responded with a shuddering orgasm of his own.

She climbed off of him and Ron held her close to him. He threw the blanket over them and kissed her neck. He was sleeping in minutes and she let his soft snores lull her to sleep thinking that she couldn't have been happier in that moment.


	13. Chapter 13

Pansy woke up a bit disoriented. It was dark in the room and she wasn't really sure what time or day it was. She was sore, but in a good way. She was warm from Ron's body heat. She nudged him, hoping he was also awake, but he threw out one loud snore and didn't otherwise stir.

She crawled out of his bed and found her knickers, and the Chudley Cannons tee shirt that he'd previously offered her. She wandered out of the room with her wand tip lit searching for the loo. Then she made her way to the kitchen and ducked her head in the fridge looking for something to eat. She'd been so nervous about seeing her parents that she hadn't eaten, and then she'd been so keyed up over the idea of breaking off with Ron that she hadn't even considered sitting down to dinner. Now her stomach protested.

Harry Potter came home early that day, and stepped out of the fire to a dark house. He hoped Ron was sleeping because it would be all hands on deck once he got there. He padded into the kitchen to find something to eat before collapsing himself. He wasn't often surprised in his own home but the one thing he hadn't expected to find in his kitchen was a perfectly round arse sticking out of his refrigerator. He stopped short. Ron's Mystery Woman, he figured with a grin. Well it was about time.

Pansy heard someone behind her and assumed Ron had woke to find her side of the bed empty. "I'm making a breakfast sandwich," she said decisively. "Do you want one too?" She was rooting around looking for cheese to put on the sandwich, unable to decide what kind to use. "What am I saying," she said with a laugh, "You're Ron Weasley, of course you want a sandwich."

"Could I have one too?" Harry asked, and Pansy jumped. She had completely forgotten about Harry. Well, there was no getting around it now.

She lifted her head from the fridge and set her ingredients on the counter beside her. Of course she had her upper body in the cold fridge and wasn't wearing a bra, she realized. Oh well. It would be more awkward to try to hide than to just be how she was. Gods, she must have given him a view too. She allowed herself a hidden wince before composing herself and turning around.

Harry went from amusement to... she couldn't quite figure it out. Not exactly joy, she noted.

"Oh. Pansy."

"Hullo," she said, wishing she would just fall through the floor and disappear forever.

"You're not, uh, who I expected." Harry said. "So you're Ron's — ?"

"His girlfriend, yeah," Pansy confirmed. They had a silent moment pass between them. "I can leave," she offered, "If it's uncomfortable for you." Because she knew she was certainly uncomfortable.

Harry sighed. "Wait," he said. "Come on. Let's make a sandwich."

He pulled out some pans and started frying bacon and eggs, toasting bread, cutting cheese. Pansy found a knife and started cutting up tomatoes and tearing up lettuce. She put the kettle on and Harry found the tea bags. They worked in silence together, and Pansy felt her anxiety swelling.

"I never meant to harm you," Pansy said, breaking the silence. "I didn't want you to — I was just scared." She made her tea with cream and sugar just to do something with her hands. They were shaking. He could end her relationship with Ron, and she needed Ron.

"I know," he said quietly.

"Bravery doesn't come so easily to everyone," Pansy said. She felt a stinging at her eyes. No, she thought, please don't cry now.

"I know," he said again.

"My parents are in Azkaban. I never did anything that would — I wasn't very nice, but that was all. I'm not a Death Eater."

"I know." Harry reached out and took her hand.

The tears fell anyway. "Why are you being so nice to me?" She asked. He should be yelling, kicking her out, calling her names.

"My dad was a mean person. Not all the time. Just to one person really. But still he's lauded as this great wizard, and everybody loved him, and I know he wasn't perfect. We can all have second chances, Pansy. Are you good to Ron, and to his friends?"

Pansy wiped her tears away, nodding.

"Are you serious about Ron?"

Pansy nodded, his time smiling a little. "We're in love," she said, butterflies in her stomach at the admission. It felt good to say out loud.

"Then that's good enough for now."

When Ron made his way downstairs he found his girlfriend and his best friend drinking tea and eating sandwiches, and acting like they'd been friends all their lives.

"Hi," Ron said, his chest feeling warm. It was nice, his best friend and his girl in the same room for once.

"Hi," they said together.

Pansy got up and started moving around, putting another sandwich together for Ron. Her cheeks glowed at the sight of him, reminded of their wonderful first night together. She listened as Harry and Ron caught up, Harry giving Ron his stories from the last shift. He'd been sent home because of a work accident, his partner getting injured in a raid, and that's how he'd run into Pansy.

"She was just telling me about her business," Harry said. "I'm going to hire her to do a graduation party for Ginny." She was graduating Hogwarts in two weeks, and Pansy had readily accepted the job. She was especially excited for what he'd confided in her and her alone — he wanted to make sure she planned for the surprise engagement in front of all her friends and family.

"I have to go," Ron said regretfully. "I'm on shift soon. I'll see you later?"

Pansy kissed him goodbye in front of the fire in a way that made Ron blush. "Definitely later," she told him. "Come to my place when you're done."

She spent the day in full planning mode, ordering food, flowers, and designing invitations. She had given Harry the homework of putting a guest list together, and deciding on any engagement details that were important to them. She had given him a bit of an interview to determine his and Ginny's taste and had started building a plan around that. She would have liked to talk to Molly Weasley but for two reasons. One, she didn't want Molly influencing the entire party, and two, she expected to be formally introduced to her soon. She didn't want it to come up naturally that she was seeing Ron and then have no control over the situation, and she didn't want to pretend as though she weren't and be found a liar later in her eyes.

She finalized a few of the details for Luna's soirée, to be held about a month after Harry's party. She realized she'd need a filing system. By person or company, cross referenced, and then cross referenced with event type. So if she wanted engagement or graduation or Ginny or Harry, this event and all the details would show up. Or Luna, The Quibbler, or launch party. She noted a note down on the scrap of parchment she'd been using as a running list of things to start doing or to research for her business.

The thing that most impeded her planning was Ron. She kept drifting off from what she was doing to think about their evening together, finding a goofy smile on her face every time. She'd stolen his tee shirt, the soft faded orange material instantly becoming her favourite item of clothing. She thought about how he'd made her body sing. How he'd just made her feel full and whole. How he was supporting her and helping her through her issues. How he'd bought suits to fit in to her events and her lifestyle, and she'd bought leggings to make it more casual at home and for flying, bought a broom. They were so different on the surface but they fit each other into their lives so easily. She thought about his goals and decided on a whim to do something that would please him on two levels. She was going to go to Diagon Alley, by herself, to get him a magical instrument. She would in a few errands while she was there.

She disapparated to the famous street before she had a chance to change her mind. She walked confidently to the music shop, trying to appear as though she wasn't a wreck inside. Once she got in the shop she placed her order, a custom guitar that won't go out of tune regardless of weather, dropping, or magical interference. It was a warm cherry wood with an ornate W on the back of the neck with a crown over it. The fret board had little crowns where regular guitars had little dots. It would be ready for pickup the next week.

She left the shop, ready to try to accomplish some errands, and the shopkeeper ran out. "Miss Parkinson!" He called, and she turned.

"Yes?"

"There's a bank holiday that week which will delay the order a day," he said, "I just realized."

"Oh. Well, my boyfriend has Wednesday off so that works better actually. He can come pick it up and you can show him those spells for amplifying. I'll see you next Wednesday."

They parted ways then, and Pansy went off to find speak to a supplier about invitation distribution options.

She never saw the man across the street from the music shop, who's eyes narrowed when he saw her.

Pansy ushered Ron and Harry towards the Floo the Wednesday next. "Come on," she said impatiently. She'd told Ron that she was going to take him to Diagon Alley, and he'd been suitably impressed that she went there by herself a week ago. Harry, who needed to go to Diagon to see Fred and George over something to do with an investment, was going to take them both to lunch while she finalized a few details for Ginny's party with him. They Floo'd into the Leaky and walked down the Alley together.

Ron was hit first by the spell. He hadn't even seen where it had come from, but all of a sudden he was on the ground.

"Harry — Pansy!" Ron called. They were also down but starting to stir, reaching for their wands. Ron's Auror training kicked in and he looked around to scan for danger. He saw a group of men with their wands out too, and they didn't look friendly. He recognized a lot of the faces, and when he realized why he filled with rage.

They'd been there that day. They were the men that had harassed Pansy, had torn her shirt away and threatened her. He snarled, getting to his feet in front of her, protecting her. But he worried that their wands outweighed his and, now, Harry's. He'd stood up and got beside Ron.

"They want Pansy," he said, his voice tight with anger. "And Harry — this is important — no one must touch her."

"Understood," Harry said, not taking his eyes off of the crowd of men.

"Just give 'er here," one of them said.

"Never," Ron countered immediately.

"She's just a Death Eater," Another said. "We just want a little payback."

"She's not," Harry stated. "She's my friend."

"She wanted to give you up."

"And I'm still here," Harry said indignantly. "And Voldemort isn't. And she's my friend."

But the crowd was beyond reason, beyond logic. Mob mentality had already set in, and a few people started throwing hexes. Ron and Harry started throwing heir shields up and attacking back. Pansy had gotten up by then too and was throwing hexes.

"Go to The Burrow," he instructed. "They have strong wards. Or to Harry's."

"No," Pansy called, dodging an attack, "I can't leave you."

With no time to argue, Ron focused ahead. He'd have to trust her to hold her own. The crowd started spreading out and so did the three of them, each taking on a group of attackers. Ron had three, Harry had three, and Pansy had two. Then Ron felt a deep, nauseating cold that filled him with dread. Dementors. He'd never forget the feeling as long as he lived.

He looked around to see where they were coming from, saw Harry do the same. Pansy didn't. Her attackers started fleeing and Pansy looked after them, confused. She didn't see two Dementors coming right behind her.

"Pansy!" Ron shouted, frantic now. His voice was cracking. He had never been so scared in his life, ever. Not through everything he'd experienced in the fight against Voldemort, not the chess match, not the Shrieking Shack, not splinched in the forest thinking he was dead — never. "Pansy, run!" But she'd felt it by then and was rooted to the spot, horrified.

"Your Patronus, Pansy!" Harry called, not knowing if she could cast one. Their attackers hadn't stopped, and they needed to keep fighting even as they watched Pansy's Dementors get closer and closer.

Ron had been trying to move their fight close enough to get to her but couldn't. He looked at Harry, who was busy trying not to be overpowered himself. Out of time and out of options Ron cast a powerful banishing spell that knocked all three of his attackers down, then sprinted to her. The Dementors were over her now and he could see them feeding, could only pray he wasn't too late. He thought about Pansy in the apple orchard surrounded by apple blossoms. He thought about Pansy in his arms on his broomstick. He thought about her laughing at his stupid jokes. He thought about how thrilled she'd been when he let her win at chess. He thought about her in his old tee shirt and knickers, about her in his bed, about her telling him she loved him. In a split second he had so many flashes of Pansy that filled him with love and happiness that when he raised his wand and hollered "Expecto Patronum!" his light filled the entire Alley.

He expected a jack russell terrier to come bounding out, but something much bigger and much more fierce looking appeared. Quite the opposite of a small dog, a large cat appeared. Ron thought it looked like a panther, but at the moment didn't quite care. All he wanted was Pansy's safety, and the panther ran the two Dementors off. He dropped next to her, trying to wake her up.

"Pansy," he said desperately, shaking her. Hoping he wasn't too late. "Pansy, please! Wake up Pans."

She stirred, opened her eyes. "Ron."

Ron felt a relief that he'd never known possible. "Merlin. Pansy, I thought I lost you."

"Ron!" He jerked his head up to see Harry now fighting his three plus Pansy's two, and Ron's guys were getting up now too. Harry was an accomplished dueller but he needed help. Ron hauled Pansy up and brought her with him. She wasn't leaving his sight again, and he was teaching her the Patronus charm the second they got out of this.

The two joined Harry and formed a line, and were soon joined by Fred, George, and Hermione, who had been in the joke shop and had seen what was happening after Ron's patronus had showed up.

"No one touches Pansy," Ron roared to the three who had joined them, bringing them up to speed. "Not a single one of these people lays a hand on her." And bless his friends, they asked no questions, they just closed ranks around her. Together they were able to subdue the crowd, and Harry and Ron quickly made arrests and magically handcuffed them.

"Someone get Ollivander," Ron barked, collecting wands. "We need to tag these with the right ID's. And get Pansy some chocolate." He sent out his Patronus again, this time with a message for his partner at the Auror office. "Attack in Diagon Alley, seven arrested." Then he turned to the group of arrested wizards and said, "Now we're going to take you to the ministry to have a talk about what happened here today, and who sent Dementors to Diagon Alley. And here's an incentive you can all think about on your way — the first person to tell the truth about that and what you did to her last May might gain some favour with me." He pointed in Pansy's direction, who was standing a bit too far off to hear, telling Hermione, Fred, and George what had happened. She looked shaken, and furious. "And you really want some favour with me right now." Then he left them to Harry to babysit while he spoke to Ollivander about who's wand belonged to whom. He fully planned on checking their past spells and counting every hex, curse, and jinx as a desperate offence against an Auror for their arrest records.

Pansy looked over Hermione's shoulder to watch Ron in action. He was giving orders, taking charge, and generally turning her on. His competence was extremely attractive.

"—want to attack you?" George was asking, and Pansy turned her attention to him.

"My name," she said simply. "My parents did some unspeakable things during the war, and that lot decided a year ago to hold me accountable for it."

"Ah," Fred said. "A case of mistaken identity?"

"A case of not knowing who to blame," she corrected. "They can't accept that the people who committed those acts are already in jail, and they're still angry. So they want revenge through me." She'd feel bad for them, maybe, if they hadn't assaulted her before.

"Ron's Patronus changed," Hermione said, surprised. "It used to be a dog."

"Is that what that was?" Pansy asked. "Harry told me to do it but I didn't know how."

"It changed?" Fred asked seriously. "From last May?" He'd seen his little brother perform a Patronus during the final battle.

"Is that bad?" Pansy asked.

"No," George said, "Just unusual. The only time I've heard about it was Tonks when she fell in love with Lupin. It turned into a wolf."

"Panthers are protectors," Hermione said. She'd looked up dozens of animals after the DA when everyone's spirit animal was revealed.

"He was protecting me," Pansy said, and her throat felt very tight. "He said he would, months ago. He was protecting me." And she walked away then, straight to Ron, seeing nothing else but him. And George, Fred, and Hermione watched her reach up and kiss him. He lifted her up and kissed her back. They saw her presumably explaining what Hermione had said about panthers, what George had said about Patronuses, and what that all meant to her.

"Well that's not something I thought I'd ever see," George said, scratching his head.

"What the —" Fred added.

But Hermione just stared. She had a pang of jealousy, for the things that weren't meant to be for her and Ron, a sense of loss for their friendship, and then she smiled. He was so clearly happier than he'd ever been. She'd never seen him look at a woman like that, ever. She reached for Fred's hand and squeezed it. "Something tells me we're going to be seeing a lot more of her around," she informed them.


End file.
